Hollyweird
by hayleylovesgiraffes
Summary: Santana Lopez is an A-List actress known for her no brains needed romantic comedies. Brittany Pierce is an up-and-coming writer, who nabbed an Oscar for her edgy art house film, "Flowers for Olivia."
1. Close Encounters of the Drunken Kind

Let me warn you before reading that this fic crosses over and will get a little cracky at certain points. Just to be safe assume that there are spoilers galore pertaining to every television show ever created.

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><p>Santana Lopez sat in a large boardroom in the middle seat of a conference table, her entertainment lawyer and manager flanking her sides. She did little to hide her irritation as she ran her fingers through her long dark hair with one hand and drummed harshly on the table with the other.<p>

Across from her sat, Miranda Bailey, one of the most dignified chick producers Hollywood ever had the glory of breeding. She was known for her incomparable script choices and take no prisoners attitude. But, that still wasn't enough for Santana—also known for her take no prisoners attitude—to huffily ask, "Where the hell is she?"

The man on Santana's left cleared his throat as he checked his watch, "Really Miranda. She's thirty minutes late. This is getting…"

"Ridiculous?" Santana offered. "I agree."

Miranda barely seemed to register Santana's agitation as she took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee that sat in front of her. "I'm sure she has a good reason for being tardy. Give her a few more minutes. You won't regret it."

Rolling her eyes Santana whipped out her phone and began tapping furiously on the keypad. This was an impromptu meeting that her agent insisted she take (even though he himself was noticeably absent). The writer, Brittany Pierce, an up and comer with a serious hot streak was known for her dark pieces of fiction. Santana Lopez was not. In fact, she still had no idea why they were meeting in the first place. She had no clue as to why it was so important to take away her tanning time to meet with someone who she was creatively on opposite sides of the film spectrum.

Santana's last movie was aptly titled "Love in the Time of One Night Stands." A romantic comedy about falling in love with—you guessed it—a one night stand. She starred opposite Noah Puckerman. It was a box office smash, a teenage dream of a movie come true. But, the critics roasted it, which was the case for every movie she made. The studios keep casting her because her name alone rakes in millions.

Brittany Pierce's last (Oscar Award winning) movie was a dark comedy called, "Flowers for Olivia." Ellen Page was cast and it too was a box office success. It took a little longer for it to reach it's peak, but it did. And the critics ate it up. Applauding not only the acting, but the flawless writing behind the screen. It wasn't her first nod from the academy. Her first screenplay, "Delirium," another macabre tale about young love and obsession was nominated for an Oscar. She lost to James Cameron. But, everyone always does.

So why their agents/managers/suits thought they were a match made in Hollywood heaven was beyond Santana's reasoning. And she was done waiting to find out. Pushing back her chair she stood with a huff just as the door exploded open and a rush of blond hair came bouncing inside. The woman kept her eyes trained on Bailey, a wide smile smeared across her face. Santana prepared herself to witness one of Miranda's legendary verbal lashings in person, but was quickly deflated when the older woman simply shook her head and asked evenly, "Where have you been?"

"Bringing Lexie back from the brink of death."

Santana's eyebrows arched hearing the girl speak for the first time. Unsure of what she was expecting she knew it wasn't what she heard: A low, bubbly rumble.

Miranda took a sip of her coffee, "Clarify."

"Apparently Mark knocked up some lady and has a kid that's like almost of legal age now. Also, she's very blond. I wouldn't picture Mark with a blond kid. Actually I wouldn't picture Mark with a kid. But he's got one." Her words came out in a deliberate slur of excitement as she peeled the black coat from her arms. "Lexie cut the tip of her finger off!"

Santana had had enough, "Excuse me! But, I've been waiting here way longer than I should've and although this little story of yours is fantastically creepy I don't really care about it."

For the first time since she'd entered the room, Brittany's smile faltered. Once she zeroed in on Santana's face it vanished completely. Turning back to Bailey she asked, "What's going on? I thought we were meeting with Zooey about going to series?"

Calmly and without a single trace of remorse Bailey stated, "I lied to you. Have a seat."

"Clearly." agreed Brittany as she slowly sat down, her hands drumming nervously against the table. With a assured nod from her manager, Santana sat back down heavily, tossing her cellphone loudly against the table.

"So are we going to get down to busy now or do you have to make a quick coffee run? I'm sure none of us mind waiting another thirty minutes for another monumental personal crises." Santana's throaty voice oozed condescendingly. But, if Brittany noticed it, she simply brushed it off, instead turning her attention back to Bailey, "I don't understand what we're doing here."

Reaching into her bag, Bailey pulled out a a thick brass bound script. Brittany's eyes widened as she scanned over the cover sheet that displayed the title, "Bright Eyes" and her name in the same, smaller font right below.

"Bailey…" Brittany warned but the woman pressed on.

"This is Brittany's latest. It's dark, of course. It's edgy, of course. And it's got Oscar written all over it. Of course. But, what it doesn't have is a leading lady…Yet."

Santana's heart began to beat wildly beneath her chest, but she held her poker face. This was too good to be true, "What does that have to do with me?"

"Are you offering Santana a role in the film?" Her manager, a pious little man in an overpriced suit asked. Brittany could practically see the numbers crunching in his mind.

Miranda grinned a smile that was both arrogant and warm, "We're offering her the role."

Brittany who up until this point had been doing well to hold her tongue made a strangled gagging noise and all eyes turned to her. Santana's lawyer stood to grab her a bottle of water but she waved it away with a polite thank you.

Santana could feel the fireworks going off incessantly inside of her body but she kept calm. Kept her perfect sneer on. Kept the air of quiet irritation in her voice. "I haven't even read the script. I don't even know what it's about."

Miranda slid the papers across the table, "Take it home. Read it and get back to us."

As Santana's perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around the script, Brittany finally spoke up, unable to contain herself, "Wait."

Santana's hands fell to the table, the script untouched.

Brittany was a writer. Words came easily too her, allegedly. But she was never good at this. Never good at confrontation. Never good at going against the crowd. But, no matter how hard it was, she'd been programmed to never let herself be walked over. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Brittany we talked about this." Miranda spoke through clenched teeth. Her brown eyes quietly threatening dismemberment.

Brittany reached across the table and pulled the script back to her side, to safe hands, "Yeah we did. And I told you that I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to offer her the role."

"Santana is a hot commodity in town right now. You would be lucky to have her on your team." Her Manager said as he licked his lips his eyes burning holes into the stack of papers.

Brittany forced herself to look Santana in the eyes—she was beautiful—but she had to focus. "Your movies are entertaining, but I don't think that you would be a good match for this script in particular."

Santana stared back at her, her round eyes an icy brown. Brittany thought for a moment she saw an inkling of sadness, but it was gone before she could really register the moment. Grabbing her phone, Santana stood again. "You're probably right. I make movies about love and laughter and you make movies that if you can make it to the very end you're left with an overwhelming urge to go home and take a razor blade to your wrist. I'm done wasting my time here."

She brought her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose and stalked out of the room, the door clamoring shut behind her. Brittany grinned uncomfortably at Santana's hired help still sitting in front of her, "You know I've heard tales of her monumental bitchiness…It's good to know some people still tell the truth."

They looked away sheepishly.

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><p>Brittany sat on her kitchen counter, holding a cold beer bottle to her forehead. Her house rested on top of hill, over looking the beach. From her vantage point she watched as the ocean angrily hit the shore and grey skies rolled in. "You'll never guess who I met today." She hollered into the house.<p>

In a blur of black curls a small Asian woman appeared from the hallway pulling a shirt over her her head, "The Pope?"

"Yes," Brittany grinned, taking a long drink from her beer.

"Did you inform him of being the leader of the world's largest cult?" She asked grabbing Brittany's beer and finishing it off.

"No, but I did ask him to ask God why he created Santana Lopez."

Cristina balked as she hobbled around the room putting on her boot, "You met Santana Lopez today?"

Brittany grinned as she shook her head to the affirmative.

"What was she like?"

"Besides incredibly-fuck-with-your-head hot?"

"Well yeah, besides that."

"Mean, man." Brittany chuckled out as she ran her hand through her hair. "Cristina, she said my movies were the movies people slit their wrist to."

Cristina nodded her head approvingly as she laced up her other boot, "She sounds dark. Befriend her, pronto."

"Pass. She's kind of a bitch." Brittany replied as she leaped off the counter and pulled another beer out of the refrigerator.

"The beautiful ones always are. Don't open that beer. We're leaving. Meredith is going to go all psycho on us if we leave her too long at this birthday party."

Cristina spun around to face Brittany, "Really, why are we going to this thing again? We don't even know the girl."

"Because we're good friends."

"No we're not."

Brittany grabbed the car keys off the end table and tossed them to Cristina as they walked out of the house. "I know we're not. And you know we're not. Arizona really needs to learn that we're not."

"We're crappy friends." Cristina agreed.

"The worst."

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><p>Everything and everyone has a price. Money talks, walks, and does fucking handstands. Santana came from a upper middle class family. Her dad is a doctor; Her mother a teacher. So she's known from a very early age that the most important factor in life was and always will be, money. Back then she used it to buy the usual girl things: tons of clothes, make up, techy gadgets she could barely use. She threw it around Lima, Ohio and people took notice.<p>

She had the best of everything. She made sure her parents never spared any expense. These days though after the real estate purchasing got old and the cars she never drives began to pile up she began to use her money to buy other things.

Mainly silence.

Buying off others meant that she could sparingly be someone she never got the chance to be: herself.

And being herself was what she was doing at this very moment. Stretched out in her over sized bed, buried deep within thick black blankets, naked from head to toe, her head pressed into the pillow and her body arching up to meet the eager mouth of one of her, "assistants" Tina.

She knows she's a cliché . She knows she's a story that's been written and remade under the Hollywood lights. A hot young actress stuck so far in the closet she's bumping fists with Aslan. But, she's worked hard to get to where she is—Sorta. So, giving it up to identify as something she isn't even sure she is, isn't going to happen. Besides, it's like her mom said, seven years ago when she was a confused sixteen year old looking for support, "You're not gay if you don't act on."

And she's not acting on it. Not really anyway. She doesn't see the problem enjoying a well practiced tongue attached to a tight lipped mouth. It's American capitalism at it's best. A service is rendered and a price is paid. No harm, no foul. Everyone wins. Thankfully for Santana, Tina is meticulous. She gets the job done without the goo-goo eyes or any lingering touches.

Her hands fist the sheets as Tina dips her tongue between wet folds, sliding against the side of her clit, her mouth opening around the nerves and suckling. On her nightstand, Santana's cell phone begins vibrating. She groans, ignoring it as she begins to rock against Tina's mouth. Higher, higher. Tina flicks her tongue out again and again and oh-

The phone quiets as Santana's moans grow louder. Tina's teeth rake against Santana's flesh as Santana bites back her orgasm wanting to draw out the sensations for as long as possible.

The cell phone illuminates again. Buzzes commandingly. Santana curses at it under her breath as she flops back onto the bed, frustrated. Tina peers up to her from between her legs, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No. But, hurry. It's just my stupid cousin calling."

Minutes later, Santana has her legs clinched tightly against Tina's head, back arching to the sky, coming so hard her bones feel it.

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><p>Tina watches from a high backed chair in the corner of the bedroom as Santana quietly dresses. "What kind of party is it?"<p>

Santana shrugs distractedly, "It's her birthday party. She's old as shit now so I don't know why we're celebrating."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-seven."

Tina grins as she slides her foot back into her black high heels, "Santana that's not old."

"That's debatable."

Silence swallows up the small conversation. Tina watches as Santana, clad only in matching black lingerie holds up different dresses to her impossibly perfect body in the mirror. As if it actually matters what she wears, she's going to look beautiful no matter what.

Selling herself for sex wasn't in her life plan. But, medical school is pricey and she wasn't about to give up her dreams. She use to service a select clientele—women only—but after she got hooked up with Santana she dropped them all. Santana payed twice their amount combined and she alone was the reason her second semester was payed for in full.

Tina would never delude herself into thinking this was a relationship for a multitude of reasons, most important being:

A) She wasn't stupid.

B) She had no feelings for Santana.

C) She had a boyfriend.

But, still she cherished the time she spent with the young actress. She got to really see Santana in these quiet moments. After every "session" Santana was left vulnerable and naked. Her body was left sated, but in her eyes there was a glimmer of fright and sometimes disgust. Tina wanted nothing more than to ask Santana what those looks meant, but she would never dare to. Questions like those were strictly forbidden. Caring about her client was against the rules. This job was too lucrative to fuck up because she was developing a soft spot for some closeted celebretard.

Santana reemerged from her closet wearing a skin tight red dress and black louboutin pumps. She did a twirl, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, "How do I look?"

Tina smiled shyly, "Like a million bucks."

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><p>Calliope Torres was in girlfriend mode. She breezed around the room, smile never breaking. Her cheeks aching as her impossible Cheshire grin never waned. She was determined to make a good impression. Arizona had thrown her a birthday party even though she had specifically requested to not be thrown a birthday party. She was forcing herself to make the most of it.<p>

Downing a glass of red wine in a split second, Callie turned to find Arizona laughing with Cristina Yang, a resident at their hospital. She hadn't spoken with the woman much, but word in the surgical room was that Cristina Yang was a beast. A whip smart, slightly deranged, surgically stellar beast. The kind of girl Callie could see herself becoming friends with. Also laughing with them was another blond that Callie didn't recognize. She was dressed in all black, save for the singular sky blue bar running across her halter top. Her boots tapped against the floor to the rhythm of the God awful upbeat tempo pouring out of the stereo.

Catching Callie's eyes, Arizona beckoned her over with a wave. Grabbing another glass of red, Callie charged forward with a frighteningly chipper smile. Arizona bounced on the balls of her feet as Callie neared them, "Here she is, the Birthday Girl! Brittany, Callie, Callie this is Brittany."

"Hi!" Callie's voice was an octave higher than normal.

Brittany smiled back curiously, "It's nice to meet you."

"And you know Cristina already, right?" Arizona asked nodding toward Cristina who was thoroughly uninterested in the conversation as she watched a tiny, forlorn looking woman dance with herself, her wine sloshing over the rim of the glass.

"Are you in Peds?" Callie asked attempting some sort of conversation.

Whipping around, Cristina made a face, "God no!"

"I'm going to pretend to not be offended by your tone. Peds is a very important, very hardcore surgery specialty. I fix the tiny, broken people. I make them whole. I ensure that the future leaders of America make it past their tenth birthday…Go me! Go Peds!" Arizona smiled proudly, her attention turning back to the woman dancing, drunkenly, "You guys maybe we should make Meredith go to sleep?"

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><p>An hour into the party and all social pleasantries had been thrown out the window. Callie traded in her distressing, over-achieving smile for her less friendly, more widely known cocky grin. Arizona's friends were fun. Well at least Cristina and Brittany were. She'd made a point to not introduce herself to anyone else after finding out that Cristina was the young doctor who had gone rogue in the OR last Thursday and that Brittany had written one of her favorite movies, "Delirium."<p>

As the conversation switched from politics, to music and then rounded back to film, Callie grabbed at her cellphone suddenly remembering who had yet to show up to her birthday festivities. Arizona eyed Callie and the phone in her hand warningly, "Do not drunk dial your dad again!"

Giggling drunkenly, Callie squinted at her phone, "I'm not calling my dad. I'm calling my cousin. She should've been here by now. She's always late. For everything."

"Holy shit, Santana Lopez is here!" Someone called out and all eyes turned to the door where sure enough Santana stood in the red dress, looking like a million bucks. The blood drained from Brittany's face as she turned around and found Santana soaking up the spotlight, posing for shitty camera phone photographs.

"She's here!" Callie tossed the phone to the side as she stood, teetering slightly. "I know semi-famous people too!" She walked over to the crowd that had gathered around the starlet.

Cristina grinned at Brittany punching her on the arm, "That hot evil bitch has intercepted this party."

"Cristina please don't refer to Callie's cousin as a bitch when she gets over here. I'm trying to make a good impression on their family. Apparently they don't dig on the gays." Arizona said as she walked away to introduce herself.

"Should we leave?" Brittany asked finally tearing her eyes away from Santana.

"Sure. They're running out of booze here anyway."

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><p>Two failed escape attempts later, Brittany found herself clinging to the corner of the room ignoring Lexie Grey as she recounted her hangups over being a step-mom to an almost fully grown person. She kept a watchful eye on Santana who sat with Callie and Arizona soaking up the attention, batting her eyes at some and scowling at the ones she deemed less deserving of a smile. All thoughts of leaving early had been dismissed when Cristina decided to dive into the bottle with Meredith. They danced drunkenly against an even drunker male nurse. Brittany rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long night.<p>

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><p>She was drunk. But, even if she wasn't drunk she could admit it because she wasn't a liar. She wasn't a liar and she wasn't blind. And seeing that Santana Lopez was the most beautiful person in a fifty mile radius and possibly in the entire world, she could openly admit that. Especially to herself and to Lexie who lie passed out over her lap. But, that was as far as this attraction was going. Actually it wasn't even an attraction. It was a slight drunken longing. Booze and beautiful women should never mix.<p>

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><p>Lexie sat up, her hair in her face, "I'm not old enough to be a step mother!"<p>

Brittany shushed her quietly and urged her gently back to sleep on her lap. Her eyes bouncing around the room and then nonchalantly landing back on Santana.

She was vibrant and although she'd had a glass of wine in her hand since she sat down she didn't look the least bit inebriated. Watching her was like watching the most incredible silent movie. She was quietly reserved, but her eyes were openly hostile. She laughed but only with Callie and occasionally when Callie glared at her for not laughing at one of Arizona's terrible jokes. Her dress hitched up her leg as she bent over and grabbed at her wine, her eyes flickering across the room and meeting Brittany's. She grinned, but it vanished before she sat the wine back down and leaned into the cushions.

The momentary contact was enough to start Brittany's pulse hammering under her skin. She inwardly kicked herself. She was drunk and Santana was beautiful. That was the only reason her body was acting so…strange. It had nothing to do with full pouty lips. It had nothing to do with the tiny crinkles that formed at the corner of Santana's eyes at every rare smile.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the caramel skin and the fact that she looked so damn delicious Brittany was almost certain she could smell her from across the room.

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><p>The one thing she was better at than writing was dancing. So when Mike Chang, a friend from Universal asked her to dance she quickly accepted. They spun, they gyrated, dipped and rolled. They did the impossible: Tore the attention away from Santana and kept it there until the end of the song and a cheery applause.<p>

A slower song kicked in and Mike held out his hand with a gentlemanly flair. Brittany grinned and placed hers in his as they slow danced.

"I want you to meet my girlfriend soon."

Brittany smiled, "Oh the mystery girl."

Mike had spoken about his new girl relentlessly, but had yet to bring her around in the four months they'd been together. Brittany liked her already because every time Mike said her name his eyes lit up like the New York skyline.

Brittany questioned, one more time, just to makes sure it was still there, "What's her name again?"

Mike grinned, his smile singing, "Tina."

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><p>It happened around midnight only after Brittany was sure she could avoid it. Callie and Arizona, a drunken blissful hybrid pulled her kicking and internally screaming to where Santana sat on the couch tiredly staring at her cellphone screen.<p>

"Hey!"

Santana jumped as Callie's voice hit her. Her eyes fell on Brittany instantly who refused to make contact. Callie pushed forward, "This is Brittany. She's in Hollyweird too!"

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><p>They had awkwardly explained that they had already met. Callie and Arizona tried to make them bond over their shared occupation but had given up instead turning into each other and trading sickeningly sweet "we're in love" eyes.<p>

Santana watched as Brittany shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her blond hair hanging in messy waves, obscuring the view of her left eye. There was something about her that Santana couldn't exactly put her finger on. There she sat, a picture of sunshine painted in black clothes. She would grin at anyone who passed, occasionally standing to hug someone. Her smile was genuine and present in a way that Santana knew her own wasn't. Her physical presence didn't fit in with her work and the words she's written. Santana couldn't figure out how such darkness came from such light.

"I watched Delirium" Santana admitted.

Brittany looked her in the eyes quizzically, her eyebrows raising, "And you're still alive."

"My point exactly," Santana grinned, "Sometimes I say stuff I don't mean."

Despite herself, Brittany felt her body relaxing for the first time since Santana had entered the party, "If that's your idea of an apology you need to rehearse better."

"It's all you get…It's all I give."

"Lucky me."

Grabbing Callie's abandoned glass of wine, Santana uncrossed and crossed her legs. She made a mental note to remember how Brittany's eyes had followed her movements, before they quickly darted away.

"How do you know my cousin?" She asked.

"I don't. I met her tonight."

"So your friends with Arizona?"

Brittany nodded, "Yes."

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><p>It was getting kind of ridiculous trying to keep up the small talk while pretending she wasn't checking Santana out, but Brittany applauded herself for her valiant attempt.<p>

Before she could stop it, Brittany heard herself explaining, "It's not that I think you're a terrible actress or anything…"

A raised eye brow against caramel skin, "Oh really?"

Brittany laughed, "Oh my God could you not be an actress for five seconds and let me explain myself to you."

Santana's lips split into a smile, "Why do you feel the need to explain yourself to me?"

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, "Because I'm drunk."

"You're honesty is refreshing. You keep it up you won't last a year in this business."

"I've lasted two and I'm doing pretty well if I say so myself." Brittany tucked a leg up under herself and leaned into Santana. She'd been fighting the handsy drunk woman trying to burst from within her but she was steadily losing the upper hand. "It's not that I think your a bad actress. You do really well with the parts that you're given-"

"Oh thanks, your approval means so much," deadpanned Santana.

"Shut up a minute please. It's just that there's a certain stigma that comes attached with you. And even though you may knock this role out out of the fucking park. I don't want that kind of stuff attached to my work…My work means something to me."

Santana felt her cheeks flush and her blood bubble to a slow boil. She kept her voice steady, but her words still came out in a hiss, "What kind of "stigma" comes attached with me?"

Brittany sat back. This is why she tried not to speak so much. She always said too much. She always said the wrong thing. She shifted uncomfortably and murmured an apologetic, "Nothing."

"Not nothing. What have you heard?" Santana's voice rose. She tried to level it.

"Nothing. I'm going to go." Brittany rose from the chair, but Santana discreetly pulled her back down leaning in. Brittany felt her hands go clammy and she struggled to keep her eyes open as Santana's scent filled her nostrils.

"Don't fuck around with me, Brittany. I may not be up to your standards, but I have enough power to seriously do damage to your career."

Santana released her grip on Brittany's shirt and stood making a bee line for the door, the crowd parted as her heels smacked across the floor. Brittany took a deep gulp of air as she let her body go limp against the chair, her head resting against the seat. Her heart slowed. She was terrified, but it wasn't because of Santana's threats. It was the way her body reacted when Santana had pulled her down that had her completely spooked. She would not let herself develop feelings for someone like her. Someone who…She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.

Leaning forward, Brittany's eyes fell on a thin silver cell phone covered in a black protective case. She picked it up and hit the home button. A picture of Santana smiling with a beautiful blond woman with a pixie hair cut stared back at her.


	2. Words We Keep to Ourselves

Can I just say how absolutely insane the response to this story has been? Seriously I thought I would be yelled at for mixing up such beloved characters. But, you like it! You really, really like it! (Insert hysterical Sally Field .gif here)

Um, I was super nervous about this chapter because I wasn't aware that I would actually have an audience. So, be kind.

Also, a million points and an offer to be my best friend forever if any of you catch the tagline I snuck in for my favorite movie in the entire world. (Free head to the person who can then name that movie)

Gosh, I'm inappropriate.

Anyway, enjoy!

Also, I don't really know how to work ff dot net and I don't feel like learning so if any of you want to bring your questions/concerns/hotpicturesofnaynayrivers over to tumblr then meet me after the bell rings at whotastesthecatfood (dot) tumblr (dot) com

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><p>Santana sat along side of her pool in a small black bikini reading over the numerous scripts sent her way in hopes of procuring her for a role. A flouncy hat obscured the view of her face which at the moment was contorted into a look that was half snarl, half incredulous disbelief. She read back over the last line of dialogue for a film entitled "Starry Nights" Her character, Rebecca was a college freshmen looking for love in all the wrong places.<p>

_Rebecca drops her towel in front of the two SEXY THUGS. She feigns embarrassment as they holler in celebration._

_No fucking way_ she thought as she tossed the papers onto the mounting stack of already discarded scripts. For the past hour she'd been reading various version of the same characters. The vapid narcissist. The black widow. The adorable klutz. Sure, she had played these roles before but she honestly had no interest in rehashing them again. At least not for the figures offered. Fortunately, she'd been put in a position where she could pick and choose which movies she signed on to do. None of these felt right.

* * *

><p>A half hour had past since she traded in script reading for sunbathing when <em>the<em> conversation weaseled its way back into her mind.

Maybe Brittany was right? Maybe there was a certain stigma attached to her career? The rumor mill hadn't helped. She knew the gory tales that floated around greater Los Angeles and into Hollywood. Some were true, some weren't. But, she never confirmed or denied anything. It kept people talking and the most important part of her job was to always keep people talking. When the voices died down, you career would soon too.

And was it really that awful? Any "stigma" that guided checks of $340,000 and upward into her bank account couldn't be something to bellyache over. Brittany Pierce was a demented basket case who got lucky. A basket case who somehow convinced Miranda Bailey (a woman not known for her sanity) that she was some kind of wonder kid.

Fuck her.

* * *

><p>She unhooked her bikini strap and tossed it onto the small table at the side of her lounge chair as she rolled over taking of the hat and placing it on the ground. The waning blood red sun tickled over her bare skin as she sighed contently into the evening air. Her life was flawless. She would never apologize for any of it.<p>

* * *

><p>Brittany sat outside the large gated home and wondered for the hundredth time exactly what she was doing. Still, unable to give herself an answer she ventured on, steering her black Prius to the keypad connected to the intercom. She followed Callie's instructions to the tee, marveling as the gates clinked and slowly pulled themselves apart so she could enter. Taking a deep breath she pushed forward and down the long driveway to the stately manor. Stepping out of the car, she lightly touched the pocket on her jeans that contained Santana cell phone. When she first mentioned to Callie that she had it she watched for an hour as she and Cristina tried to hack past the cousin-proof lock. Unable to guess correctly they'd given up.<p>

Callie told Brittany she should bring the phone over and try to clear the air. She was sure that once they sat aside they're creative differences they could become great friends and Santana was in dire need of people who weren't trying to use her for something.

Brittany had agreed under the pretense of feeling torn about how things how ended between she and the actress. In reality, it had been three days and not a single thing had gotten done around her house. Dishes were piling up. Cristina's clothes were scattered everywhere around her living room. She had a writing deadline fast approaching. But, the only thing she could do was agonize over the way Santana's frantic eyes ignited when she pulled her back down to the chair. The way her soft hands felt gripping her arm. And don't even get Brittany started on the way she smelled...

Mustering up her courage to be spit on, Brittany rang the doorbell and waited patiently. Moments later, a plump woman in a housekeepers uniform opened the door. Brittany grinned, "Hello."

"Can I help you?" The woman had a slight English accent.

Brittany quickly explained that she was here to see Santana to return her phone. The Housekeeper seemed hesitant until Brittany mentioned she knew Callie. Smiling for the first time the housekeeper, Elena, beckoned her inside and to the backdoor that lead to the pool where Santana was sunning. Brittany marveled at her surroundings as she walked. Ever since she made it in Hollywood she'd seen some pretty lavish homes, but never considered that people actually lived, day to day, in them. Her home on the beach was not miniscule by any means. It was modestly breathtaking. Living there, from where she'd come from, humbled her. Waking up to the sounds of the ocean, to floor to ceiling glass windows kept her entire existence in perspective. Brittany knew how lucky she had it.

Santana's home was overwhelming opulent. There were marble floors and one of the most staggering grand staircases in existence. There was no humility in this excess. Walking through Santana's home was like walking through a slightly smaller Taj Mahal. Santana was the Queen come back from the dead.

Stepping into the backyard, she gulped as her eyes fell onto a slumbering Santana. She was bare from the waist up and laying flat on her stomach. French music played from the house speakers. A waterfall was constructed to flow right into the infinity pool. The sight was so ridiculously lush that Brittany couldn't help but smile. Despite the copious amounts of extravagence though there was a calming aura. Brittany could tell why Santana would choose to spend a Friday afternoon alone in her backyard than out in the world with millions of people fawning over her.

* * *

><p>Brittany stood a couple feet away from Santana who lie motionless on the lounge chair. She took a minute, <em>just a minute<em>, to appreciate her view before clearing her throat.

Santana's head immediately whipped to the side. The brief calm of her features were quickly wrenched into a sneer. This girl had guts.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Brittany stuffed her hand into her pocket and retrieved the phone. She grinned slightly as she held it up, "Returning this."

"Oh." Santana's face went slack, but she made sure to keep the disdain in her eyes. Taking a moment to retie her bikini top strings she sat up and snatched the phone out of Brittany's hand. "I already had this one cut off. I got a new one."

Brittany looked to where Santana had nodded and sure enough on the small table sat a replica of the silver phone. She watched as Santana entered the password and scrolled through it as if making sure everything was still there.

An uncomfortable tension welled in Brittany's body as Santana kept her head bent down to the phone, ignoring her. "Well...okay. Bye." She spun around on her heels.

"Why didn't you just give it to Callie? She could've gotten it back to me?" Santana plopped the phone onto the table and stared up waiting for an answer. Turning back around, Brittany shrugged her shoulders.

"I think...That you might have...gotten the wrong impression of me...Gotten the wrong impression of you that I have. I think that you may think that I see you in a way that I don't." She struggled to find the words.

Santana huffed, "Conceited, B-Rate writer who says way too much about things she knows little very little of, I think I got it." She was overflowing with contempt. Brittany kicked at the ground, scuffing her ankle boots.

"This is going to sound conceited, which I know does me no favors, but I can say without a doubt, that conceited has never been a word used to describe me. People say I'm very humble actually." Brittany shuffled closer as she spoke. Santana eyed her warningly and she stopped in her tracks averting her eyes as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

Reaching down, Santana snatched her hat from the ground and strode toward her house. "Thanks for bringing me my phone, _I guess_. You can show yourself out the way you came in."

Brittany watched as she stalked back into her home, her feet stomping angrily into the ground. The curves of her ass swaying, all but begging Brittany to stare.

And she did.

* * *

><p>"You totally have a type!"<p>

Brittany rolled her eyes as she sat back in her chair, taking a sip from a steaming cup of espresso. "No, I don't."

The women sitting at the table with her hooted in disbelief. Brittany sat across from her ex-girlfriend, Carmen de la pica Morales one of the most sought after DJ's in California and to the left of Carmen sat the incredibly abrasive, yet equally charming Alice Pieszecki (of the chart Pieszecki) fame.

Alice shook her head as she laughed, "You're so full of shit Britt and the only reason you're getting blue balls over this girl is because she looks like she could be Carmen's sister."

"So what you're saying is that I'm not over Carmen?"

Brittany turned to look at Carmen who cocked her head to the side, a flirty grin staining her features, "You tell us, Pierce."

Unable to help herself, Brittany felt a blush begin to sneak over her cheeks and across her nose. She ducked her head down as the corners of her lips pulled up into a smirk, "We're not going there."

She collected her keys from the table and finished off her coffee as she stood, "Besides, aren't you dating that dude now Carmen?"

She threw a quick smile to her friends as she stalked to the exit. "Stop calling my girlfriend a man, Brittany!" hollered Carmen at her ex's retreating form.

* * *

><p>Walter Zimmerman was one of the greats. He was a prolific agent, known for his incredible warmth and his impeccable eye for talent. He was responsible for launching the careers for many of Hollywood's A list clientele. He died a week ago and the stars were still mourning. A party was being thrown in his honor by the CEO of William Morris. Everyone who was anyone was invited. No one would dare to miss.<p>

* * *

><p>Santana stood in the crowded room in a flowing white gown, her hair in a sleek up-do. She nodded courteously at the people who passed and chatted half sincerely with those who worked up the courage to approach her.<p>

"Santana, you could try to at least feign interest every once in a while. You can do that remember? You're an actress." The voice belonged to her agent, Kurt Hummel. His vacation with his newest boyfriend Blaine was cut short so he could be back in time for the festivities and he had been in a pissy mood all night.

"Kurt, did you see her mouth? Her gums were too large for her teeth. I shouldn't be expected to hold a conversation for more than sixty seconds with a thirty year old woman who still has her baby teeth."

Santana spoke to Kurt without looking at him. Her eyes scanned over the party not finding anyone of any interest to speak with.

"Can we go soon?" This velvet voice came from her other side and it belonged to a gorgeous pixie haired blond. Her hair was highlighted with pink flecks of color making her look like some kind of punk elf goddess. She was Quinn Fabray and she was the only person Santana would call at four in the morning after a night of drinking, when she was freaking out about dying alone. Quinn is the girl who would hold Santana's hair while she puked and gently rub her back while simultaneously verbally abusing her for being such a fucking child.

Kurt sucked his teeth, "No we can not, Quinn! Walter Zimmerman was a legend. We can't just leave, it's disrespectful."

Ignoring Kurt, Quinn turned to Santana, "If we're not gone in an hour I'm going to seriously abuse the open bar."

Santana grinned back at her best friend, "Getting your ugly crying done early, huh?"

* * *

><p>Kurt couldn't understand so he asked for someone to repeat everything again. He stood on the side of Miranda, one hand on his jutted out hip, the other clutching his head in mock disbelief.<p>

"You tried to set me up with a broke ass white girl John Lennon. Minus the talent." Santana quipped as she slurped back her glass of champagne.

Brittany grinned, "Clever. I'm actually surprised you know that many adjectives. Maybe I was wrong about you?"

Santana was beautiful and she was powerful but it would take a lot more than snark and a surly face to make Brittany back down.

_ "Comer una polla, puta!" _Santana squared her shoulders and her body unconsciously moved toward Brittany completely ready to thrown down if necessary.

"Alright, alright, alright! No need to go all mean girl in a high school movie, Santana. I think we all know what "puta" means!" Kurt said as he intertwined his arms with hers.

"It means bitch. Just in case you were wondering." Santana offered to Brittany who continued to smile back as if she was telling her the weather instead of cussing her out. Santana's eyes shifted to Bailey, "Is your writer retarded or something?"

Miranda huffed, "My writer is brilliant. Stubborn. But, brilliant."

"Kind of like you, Santana," chipped in Kurt as he tightened his grip around Santana's arm.

"I'm walking away now." And without another word, Brittany did. Her long legs guiding her effortlessly through the crowd of bodies and across the room.

* * *

><p>Santana kicked off her heels as she entered her home. She sat down heavily on the couch letting out the long breath she hadn't realized she was holding since the party. All of her life she had been searching for the spotlight. It probably has something to do with the fact that her parents weren't affectionate when she was a kid, but whatever.<p>

She was a big girl now and she had millions of fans around the world. She knew men jerked off to her sex scenes. She knew women starved themselves in hopes of looking like her. She received tons of fan letters from girls who had told their parents that when they grew up they wanted to be Santana Lopez.

She had searched for the spotlight and she had found it. It was warm and blinding. It was all she ever wanted. But, like everything else Santana had longed for once she finally got it, she no longer needed it. Or wanted it. She can't exactly put her finger on when the pop of a flashbulb stopped sounding like music to her ears, and started sounding like a life sentence. She was under constant scrutiny. But, unlike the countless starlets that had fizzled away before her, she wouldn't let the media document her fall. She wouldn't become some cautionary tale.

She laid back on the couch as she stretched her calf muscles, an unexpected yawn ripped from her body.

The spotlight burned all the parts of her it use to tickle. But, who would she become if she gave it up?

* * *

><p>Her doorbell going off shook her from her slumber. She picked up her phone to check the time. 4:22 AM. Muttering obscenities as she stood she mentally readied her verbal arsenal for one hell of a rampage. She ripped open the door and there Brittany stood wearing the all black outfit from the night of Callie's birthday party. And the halter top with the horizontal blue bar running across the fabric.<p>

Why was Santana just noticing exactly how enticing the low v-cut of the shirt made the writer's breast look?

Snapping too, Santana cleared her throat, "Why are you at my house at four o'clock in the morning? Your impromptu visits are seriously getting creepy."

Brittany's blue eyes raked over Santana's face, coming to rest on plump, glossy lips, "I want you..."

Santana's voice hitched.

Noticing it, Brittany beamed as she finished, "...to be in my movie. I want you to be in my movie, Santana."

Santana has no idea how it's possible but at that moment her heart sank into her stomach as it simutaneously lodged in her throat.

_This wasn't happening._

"Wh-What?" She kicked herself for how her voice dripped with disbelief. Brittany grinned wider. Her smile reached her eyes and poured a thousand words into Santana's gut.

"I want you to be in my movie. I'm sorry about before. About what I said. I didn't mean it."

Brittany stepped into the house, pulling off her jacket as she looked around approvingly. Santana shut the door behind her shaking her head, "Hold up, Vanilla-"

"If you insist on calling me a name other than the one Joni and Sting Pierce gave me then I insist it be, Meghan O'Leary Princess of Sparta."

"Your parents are named, Joni and Sting?"

"Of course not, silly."

"What makes you think that I want to be in this movie?"

Brittany didn't answer her. Instead she stared back silently, her eyes dancing over the full span of Santana's body. Santana could feel her face heating up, so she tried to walk away.

Brittany grabbed her by the elbow lightly. "I want you to be in this movie, Santana..."

Santana let Brittany pull her in closer, they're eyes locking together like magnets. Her breath rattled out like a shallow prayer as she felt Brittany's hand let go of her elbow and come to rest at the small of her back. Brittany grinned down at her, a lion about to attack a helpless lamb,"...but, I need you to do one thing for me."

Santana paused. She didn't trust her voice. Her body was betraying her, she was sure her voice would too. She bit at her lips as the fingertips on her back danced over the thin fabric of her dress. She felt the drumming inside of her bones. Every tap was electic. The air around them was suddenly heavy. This was all way too intense.

"What do you need me to do?" She finally mustered out. The smile on Brittany's face became devilish as she ducked her head down to whisper her lips against Santana's ear.

"Take off your clothes."

* * *

><p>Brittany had her on the floor, on her back. Pale hands clenched at toned honeyed thighs and Santana was already arching off of the carpet in anticipation. Her entire core was pulsing. A slight sheen of sweat had built on her skin. Her heart hammered in her chest as the voice in her head kept berating her. Kept asking her, over and over: <em>What was she doing?<em>

Brittany kneaded her flesh and Santana hissed into the air. This was probably a monumental fucking mistake, but she couldn't make herself stop it. She didn't want to stop it.

Using her hands, Brittany pushed Santana's thighs until they were resting flat against the floor, her legs bent slightly at the knees. Santana was completely exposed and dripping with promise. She watched as Santana's perfect breast heaved into the air, her nipples stiff. She bent down slowly, letting her tongue swipe tentatively over Santana's glistening sex. A strangled moan escaped into the quiet room. Wanting to hear it again, Brittany repeated her actions. Using her elbow to hold Santana's quivering right leg down, Brittany guided two fingers against Santana's mound, spreading her lower lips apart. Her tongue trailing hotly after her fingers until her mouth rested against her clit.

Santana let out a cry. Brittany grinned against her. She circled the throbbing bundle of nerves with her tongue, taking her time. She made sure Santana felt every swipe against her and every touch of her fingers.

"Brittany?" croaked Santana in a voice so small and uncertain that it made Brittany look up in concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut. Paced herself. Built herself up to take a plunge off of the proverbial cliff as she asked in that same hushed, pleading voice "Will you put your fingers inside of me?"

The question caused a pool of wetness to form in Brittany's already saturated panties. She kept her head close to Santana's pussy as she used her index finger to toy at Santana's opening. Slowly, she slide a finger into warmth, pulling it back out with the same gentleness. Santana's hands flew up, one grabbing at the leg off the coffee table, the other tangling into her own hair. With more force, Brittany thrust her index finger back into Santana. She nipped at Santana's flesh as she added her middle finger to the mix. In an out. A one two punch that pulled a deep seated moan from Santana's body.

Managing to pull a leg free from Brittany's stronghold, Santana placed it over Brittany's shoulder. She used it to guide Brittany's face back down to where she needed it most. Her breast bounced as her body rocked to meet every thrust Brittany gave her. She could feel the pressure coiling inside of her. Her abdomen contracted as she tried to stave off her orgasm. But, as Brittany once again brought her lips back down to Santana's clit she was shattering against her mouth before she could begin to process it.

* * *

><p>Brittany didn't let her bask. Before she knew it, the fingers tucked so deeply inside of her slide out. A wet hand grasped at her thigh as Brittany pushed herself up and onto her knees. Santana watched as the black halter top was discarded along with Brittany's bra. Brittany watched Santana watch her, "I'm hot, right?"<p>

Santana nodded her head furiously. She wouldn't pretend to know words at a moment like this. Grinning wider, Brittany watched as Santana's impossible almond eyes locked onto her jeans. "I'll take them off if you ask nicely."

Frantic brown eyes searched Brittany's face. Was she serious?

When Brittany made no effort to move her stalled fingertips, it sank it to Santana that she was. She cleared her throat, once. Twice. And again for good measure. "_Please_."

It was one word. But, it was said with such conviction. Such wanton desire that it was enough and as promised, Brittany stood unzipping her pants. She peeled the skin tight jeans from her thighs. Santana's hungry eyes fell onto the small slip of purple panties, her legs parting again on their own accord when she noticed the dampness at Brittany's center.

"Those too," Santana added.

Brittany shook her head, still standing, her fingers drumming against the side of her thigh, "Magic word."

"Please." Another husky breath of air practically begging to touch Brittany's body.

Brittany obeyed as she pulled her panties down. They dropped to the floor and she gently kicked them out of the way. Santana used her elbows to push herself up to a sitting position. She couldn't stop looking at all the parts of Brittany she thought she would never have the chance of seeing. Parts she never thought she wanted to see.

Brittany stepped closer to her, until her slit was hovering mere inches from Santana's face. Santana closed her eyes as the smell of Brittany's arousal overwhelmed her senses.

"Give me your hand, Santana."

Without opening her eyes, Santana lifted a hand to Brittany. Brittany watched quietly as one of the most successful, most powerful women she had ever met sat below her, a hopeless puddle of her former grandeur.

"Open your eyes."

It took her a moment, but Santana managed to pry her eyelids apart. She was unable to make herself look anywhere except for in front of her. She licked her lips as she bent forward ready to dive into Brittany completely. But, Brittany stepped back.

"What are you doing?" Santana knew how pathetic she sounded, but she was too turned on to care. Brittany smiled. Using her own hands, Brittany guided Santana's fingers across wet, alabaster folds. Twitching her fingers slightly, Santana found moisture. She let Brittany guide her hand from the base of her lips back up to her clit.

"I can do it myself Brittany," assured Santana. Still, Brittany didn't let go. Instead she brought Santana's fingertips back down. Repositioning her weight, Brittany sank herself onto Santana's fingers. They both moaned, Santana's eyes fluttering shut again momentarily.

Santana pushed into Brittany. Long pale legs quivered. Her hold still tight around Santana's hand, Brittany let Santana pull her fingers out and thrust them roughly back in. Her body was begging for release and she was slippery to the touch and the way Santana was looking at her, _with those eyes_, she knew she didn't stand a chance of lasting very long.

Using restraint that she had no idea she possessed, Brittany pulled Santana's fingers from within her and along with them sticky moisture. Sinking back down to the floor and onto her knees, Brittany brought their lips together. She suckled at Santana's top lip, before moving gingerly to the bottom. Her tongue slid out and Santana wasted no time pulling it into her mouth. When they broke apart, Santana had her eyes clenched shut again and she was breathless.

"Santana?"

"Hmmm?"

They swayed gently into each other. Brittany tucked a locket of hair behind Santana's ears.

"I want you to lay on your stomach..."

Santana's eyes opened, brimming with questions that she couldn't put to words. Brittany ignored them as she pressed on.

"I want you to lay on your stomach and I want you to spread your legs for me..." She dropped a kiss to Santana's collar bone. Took a moment to slide her tongue up her neck and against her jawbone before finding that full top lip again. "And I want you to think about how it felt to have your fingers inside of me..."

A chaste kiss was placed to Santana's cheek, followed by a bite to her lower lip. "I want you to think about how it felt inside of me and how my tongue felt in your mouth."

Santana whimpered as Brittany pulled her in, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist. She let Brittany's tongue dive back into her mouth. Their lips slide against one another, their tongues melting together. Santana brought her hands up to Brittany's neck to keep her in place, but Brittany continued to pull away, "On your stomach, Santana."

Letting her eyes drift down to Brittany's milky breast for a moment, Santana sighed and then gave in. She turned around, grabbing two of the large pillows off of the couch and positioning them on the floor.

She paused. Brittany gently nudged her hips to the ground, but Santana didn't budge. Brittany leaned her front against Santana's back as she pushed long black locks out of the way to reveal Santana's shoulders. She nipped at the skin there, "It's not fun when you don't cooperate, Santana."

Santana chuckled as she stopped the pale hand that was creeping around her side, scatting across her skin and back toward her center. "Magic word, Britt."

Brittany grinned against Santana's shoulder, "Unicorn."

"Nope." Santana shook her head.

Brittany let out an exaggerated groan, _"Pleease."_

"Good girl." Santana bent forward, stretching herself across the pillows. Brittany scooted closer to where her thighs hit the back of Santana's leg. Santana's eyes fluttered shut as Brittany's breast grazed across her back. "You're so good at this..."

_ "Ms. Lopez."_

"Mmmmhm..."

_"Ms. Lopez."_

Santana's eyes flew back open. That wasn't Brittany's voice that was...Elena?

_ "Ms. Lopez."_

The warmth of Brittany's body was fading rapidly. The blond hair tickling her skin was becoming a memory.

_ "MS. LOPEZ!" _

Santana's eyes flew open._  
><em>

_"WHAT?"_

Hovering above her was her housekeeper, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought you were dead."

"I was sleeping." Santana snapped as she sat up on the couch.

Elena shrugged her shoulders to accustomed to Santana's monumental bitchiness to bat an eye. "Your cousin just pulled into the gate." Without another word she exited the living room.

Santana looked down. She was still in the dress from last night's party. She tried to work out the crook in her neck as she sat back into the couch. Her pulse was thundering. She needed to not look so completely freaked out about having a sex dream about a woman who couldn't stand her when Callie made it inside.

Rubbing her thighs together, she felt moisture. An incredibly realistic sex dream, but a dream nonetheless. No one had to know about it.

She needed a cold shower.

* * *

><p>Tying her robe as she walked out of the bathroom she found Callie strewn across her bed reading a screenplay.<p>

"Dude this thing is fucking terrible." Callie laughed as she flipped further into the script, her face a judgmental grimace. "Really fucking terrible."

Santana shrugged her shoulders as she disappeared into her closet, "I know, but they're offering me a high six figures."

Callie snorted, "You're not going to do it?"

"Did I mention the high six figures?"

Santana reappeared in a pair of black jeans and an over-sized white shirt. Her wet hair dripped down her back. Callie looked at her quizzically.

"But you're like rich now. Six figures don't really matter when you have seven. Right?"

"Ha!" Santana tied her hair into a loose bun, "Money always matters. You should understand, Callie...Look at it this way," Santana sat on her bed against her pillows, "Let's say on Monday some dude comes in with a jacked up leg. He's like broken it in seven hundred different places and the surgery is not only crucial but it's gonna be kick ass."

"It's not possible to break your leg in seven hundred different places, but I'm still following, continue." Callie repositioned herself at the foot of the bed to stare up at her cousin.

"But, on Sunday you treated another guy with a totally fucked up leg, all broken up in eight hundred places. Would you still treat Monday guy?"

"Uh, duh. I took an oath."

"Well it's the same thing for me. Just because I deposited a check for six figures yesterday doesn't mean that I can't sign on to play the very same character in a different film and bank another six figures from it."

Callie rolled her eyes, "This analogy makes no sense, Santana."

"It makes perfect sense. You break bones for a living, I break the bank."

Callie sat up, "As your cousin, I feel as if it's my duty to tell you to reevaluate your life choices. All your movies suck. I say that with love."

Santana grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Callie's face. The older woman swatted it away before it made contact. "I'm an artist, Calliope Torres!"

"You're a movie prostitute."

A flicker of darkness glistened in Santana's chocolate eyes, but Callie was too busy laughing at her own joke to notice. "Well..." Santana said as she stepped off the bed, "We can't all be as deep as Brittany Pierce." She grabbed her cell phone and began scrolling absentmindedly through the contacts. Her thumb hovering over Tina's name as last night's dream came bubbling back to the forefront of her mind.

Callie's face sparked at the name, "That chick is good! Have you seen Delirium?"

"Yes!" Santana snapped, slamming her phone back down, "Yes, I've seen Delirium. She's a fucking God amongst mortals. Blah, blah, fucking blah. It was just a_ movie_."

Callie jerked back, caught off guard by Santana's sudden burst of anger. "So I take it you don't like her?"

"More like she doesn't like me." Santana mumbled, picking her phone back up, distracting herself from Callie's steely gaze.

Another laugh erupted from her cousin, Santana wondered for a moment how much shit she would get for chucking the phone at Callie's face.

"You're insane, Santana. I've known Brittany for like a week. We've hung out a handful of times and I can pretty much say with 100% accuracy that is physically impossible for her to dislike anyone...Except leprechauns. But, I don't even want to get into why that is."

"Well, she doesn't. But, who cares. This business will swallow her up soon enough." The venom was back in Santana's voice. She reminded herself for the hundredth time that Brittany's opinion didn't matter. Once her first movie flopped she'd be just another has-been rehashing her glory days at C List Hollywood parties.

"Is that why you refuse to do that movie?" Callie's voice was soft as she looked her younger cousin over. She knew Santana better than almost anyone. She knew to look past the harsh words and the rigid posture and the sour face. She knew to _look closer_.

Santana sat back on the bed, facing away from Callie, "She doesn't want me to do it."

"But, if she wanted you to. Would you do it?"

Breathing in deeply, Santana shook her head, "It doesn't matter. Because she doesn't want me. She says that I'm not _right_ for it. Whatever. _Puta_."

Callie came around the bed and sat next to Santana, "Are you right for it?"

Santana shrugged her shoulders, "I haven't even read the script. I don't even know what it's about. But..."

Callie softly punched Santana's thigh, "But, what?"

Santana rolled her eyes, mostly at the ridiculousness of this completely disgusting Kodak moment, but also at herself as she forced out, "_But_, the girl wrote Delirium and Flowers for Olivia. Those movies made me remember why I wanted to be an actress. So..."

"So...?"

"Yes. If she would've asked me to be in the film, I would've said yes. I would've said yes no matter the material. I would've said yes no matter the price."


	3. Smoke and Mirrors

Sorry for the ludicrous wait. The semester is over though so I should be a lot more steady with the updates. Although I do plan on spending copious amounts of time sleeping, catching up with friends I neglected these past months and also with getting fat. I hope you guys are still reading! Oh and I would actually LOVE a beta reader. So, if anyone is interested in being internet friends with me and tricking the world wide web into thinking I'm literate, hit me up on here or my tumblr (whotastesthecatfood).

Oh and Katie M, you guessed right about the movie. Four for you.

* * *

><p>Auditions were the worst.<p>

Brittany waved goodbye as yet another hopeful star for "Bright Eyes" sauntered out of the door, her eyes brimming with hope and fear. This hadn't been easy. Casting never was, especially when it came to certain niche movies like the ones Brittany and her team made. The door slammed shut. She looked over to Bailey who had the same beaten look, Brittany knew her own eyes mirrored. "How many more left?"

The casting director, Shauna, sat to Bailey's left. She leafed through her papers, "Ten more here and then tomorrow we fly down to San Diego for a half day of auditions. Billy's going to be there."

Brittany let her head flop onto the table with a thud. "Why is this so hard?"

"Because nine out of ten of these so called aspiring actors littering around Los Angeles's street like junkies, _suck_." Shauna said not looking up from the papers. "I wanna shoot myself in the face."

Bailey took a long sip from her scalding coffee, she sat the cup down as she licked the liquid from her lips, "Stop whining, the next actress is about to come in. Look hopeful."

Brittany pulled herself back up from the table, blonde hair falling into her eyes. Auditions were definitely the worst. They were tedious and time consuming. She hated having to sit through bad actor after bad actor. Or finding an actor that was great, but just not great for the part. Or finding an actor that was great and great for the part, but inherently knowing that it was going to be a bitch working with them and cutting them off at the legs for that reason alone. It's hard to make films. A lot harder than those outside of the business are aware of. She wasn't going to spend her time dreading it because she chose some pretentious hipster actor or conceited airhead actress.

Also and Brittany had only recently been able to admit this to herself, the reason these auditions seemed far more excruciating than her first two movies was because she couldn't shake the gnawing at the back of her mind that kept repeating she was giving away Santana's part. Not that Santana had any claim to the role, but she was giving it away even though she knew she wanted it. Santana, in the brief encounters they've had, hadn't admitted it. But, Brittany saw the look in her eyes the day in the boardroom, right before she began to reach out for the screenplay. Santana Lopez wanted to be in this movie.

The door to the small room opened again and another young, cheerful actress with blonde hair breezed inside. Brittany smiled as Bailey introduced everyone. She then made a note in her logbook that if this girl got the part, the hair color had to go.

* * *

><p>Santana laid across her bed, her feet propped against the headboard staring at the ceiling. She wore only her t-shirt and panties and her hair was tousled. At the moment, she was in the middle of coming down from another extraordinary orgasm when a tummy rumbling from the other end of her bed pulled her out of her thoughts. She glanced down at Tina who sat up, blanket tucked under her arms, back against the headboard and asked, "Do you want food?"<p>

Tina shook her head as she scooted out of the bed, "I'm meeting some friends. But, thanks."

Santana eyes raised at the sheer normalcy of the act. The woman had just spent the past half hour getting Santana off and now she was just going to hang out with her friends? The thought was strangely pedestrian and oddly comforting. "What are you guys doing?"

Tina balked as she pulled on her underwear. This was not the way things went. Santana never asked about her personal life. The only reason she knew the very little she knew about Santana was because Santana would go on these short lived tangents. But on the rare occurrence they happened, she talked more to herself than to Tina. She never asked for Tina's advice and Tina never offered it, she simply nodded and listened. Sometimes that's all people needed and it seemed to work well enough for Santana. In the case that it didn't, Santana never said a word. "We're uh...going to lunch at this place downtown. The Planet. Then we're going dancing."

Santana's eyes closed as she listened to Tina redressing herself, "Isn't The Planet that place with all the lesbians?"

Tina let out a small laugh, "Straight people go there too. But, yeah. Lots of lesbians. I'm meeting my boyfriends friends. One of which is a lesbian. "

Santana smirked as she sat up, turning around to face Tina where she dressed at the end of the bed, "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yes." Tina replied as she stuffed her feet back into her heels. "His name's Mike." She's not sure why she added that little tidbit. But, this felt like a conversation, so she at least should try and make it interesting. "He's a dance instructor. It's actually his studio we're going to after lunch. We're learning how to Salsa."

Santana was quiet for a moment as she devoured this new information. These were the intimate details of Tina's life. It was silly she was just learning them. Five minutes ago, she had her fingers buried deep inside of Santana and only now was she getting around to mentioning that she had a boyfriend named Mike who was a dance instructor who hung out with lesbians.

"Does he know you do this?" Santana's voice was quiet. The question made her uncomfortable and she wasn't sure why. Tina's eyes clouded as she slipped back into her coat and shook her head.

"No. But, I have bills." Tina shrugged as she watched Santana. She was so small against the enormity of the bed. For a moment it looked as if Santana was going to say something. But, her lips pursed as if she was fighting herself from keeping the words in. So typical.

Tina grabbed her keys off of the dresser and smiled, any darkness on her face long gone, "I'll see you soon, Santana."

Santana nodded as Tina walked out. She wasn't sure what surprised her more, the fact that Tina's boyfriend didn't know she was a call girl or the fact that people still introduced their girlfriends to their friends and went out and took dancing classes. And she wasn't sure why either of them were surprising in themselves. Most women keep the fact that they sell themselves for cash quiet. And why wouldn't you introduce your friends to the person you're seeing? That's how it works? That's how the real world works.

Santana had a tendency to forget about trivial things. Her life was superimposed against everyone else's reality. The food was better, the houses were bigger, the cars were faster. The rich were powerful and the poor didn't exist. But, of course with the abundance of luxury came the absence of humanity. In her world, the two couldn't coincide. Or at least she couldn't make them and she hadn't met a soul who could. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places? Maybe she was looking hard enough? Maybe she had already found them and didn't notice. Which would be an incredibly easy thing to do seeing as though she hid behind a twenty foot gate and bought silence. She couldn't remember the last time she hung out outside of some club or even in the daylight. She couldn't remember the last time she was invited out to something that didn't have anything to do with her job or that wasn't a family function. Quinn was the first and last friend she'd ever made.

She needed to remember that.

* * *

><p>So basically Mike Chang had an awesome girlfriend. She was edgy in a way that Brittany found only Asians could be. Also, she had an enormous, toothy smile that reminded Brittany of a porn star she once fell in love with through her computer screen.<p>

She was so relieved when Mike phoned out of the blue asking if she wanted to _finally_ meet Tina and attend a dance class with them. It was a couples course, so she decided to make Noah Puckerman, a development exec at Universal tag along with her. He was fun and goofy and when he wasn't trying to get into her pants (which was seldom), he was actually pretty decent company to be around. Besides that she needed answers. Santana and Puck had dated for about seven months after her first film and word on the street was that although they'd broken up, they had yet to stop the physical aspects of their relationship.

* * *

><p>An hour into the class, Tina and Puck decided to mutiny against their partners. They sat along the mirrored wall of the room, their faces flushed but happy as they watched Mike lift Brittany, twirl Brittany, do things to Brittany's safety that made Tina gasp, Puck hoot and everyone let out a relieved breath of air when her feet touched the floor again.<p>

* * *

><p>Later that day, after thoughts of Tina and normalcy had dissipated from her mind, Santana watched as Quinn made a beeline for her liquor cabinet as soon as she stepped foot inside. "I fucking<em> loathe<em> actresses."

Quinn was a producer for Focus Features, an exclusive niche independent production company that had a stellar reputation for putting out films that were not only commercial hits, but thought provoking as well. Quinn's hands worked rapidly pulling out a bottle of brown liquid-whatever and pouring herself a stiff drink. She swallowed the drink with a sting and a sated breath. Her heart beat slowing and nerves unwinding at a snails pace, she poured herself another glass, turned around to Santana and smiled, "No offense."

"None taken," said Santana as she shrugged, "I hate them too. What happened?"

Quinn's head shook as she walked over to the chair across from Santana's couch and sat down, "What always happens? They get a couple of films underneath their belt and start to think they're hot shit. As if they can't be fired."

"Clearly they haven't worked with you."

Quinn grinned over the rim of her glass, "Clearly."

Santana met Quinn in high school, their freshmen year. They'd tried out for the cheer leading team and because everyone else sucked and/or had the most insane acne she'd ever witnessed they were forced to become best friends. Junior year, they'd tried out for captain, Quinn won the title. But, that didn't stop Santana's own rise to infamy. Her classmates (and teachers) either feared her or wanted to fuck her. _Or both_. Everyone ate from the palm of her hand except Quinn. She never took Santana's shit. She never let her get away with anything. Thankfully. She isn't sure where she would be right now if she hadn't had Quinn's hypocritical moral compass steering her in the right direction. Or at least in a better direction.

"You need a girlfriend."

Santana's head jerked over to where Quinn sat, paranoid. "Shut up."

Quinn rolled her eyes, "We're in your house, stupid." She sat her glass, sans coaster on the mahogany coffee table. She was the only one who knew Santana liked girls. She knew about Tina and her brief foray with Puckerman's assistant while they were "dating." (If you call a couple of photo-op dinners and late night drug fueled sex sessions, dating.) Quinn kept it to herself for the most part. She saw it as something that would come to a head sometime or another.

Santana sat up straight, her feet dangling to the floor, uncomfortable. "I don't need a- anyone."

"Yes, you do. It's Friday night and you're relatively attractive, rich and everyone in this town wants to do inappropriate things to your body. Yet here you sit in this absolutely tacky home staring at me and the walls." Quinn gave a pointed look that Santana chose to ignore.

"I don't need anyone. Why would I?" She gave Quinn a brash grin, "I have you."

Quinn let out a hollow laugh. "We are not good for each other. We've never been good for each other. Maybe if we realized that and did something about it we would both stop being so miserable."

Santana nodded her head in agreement, "Maybe." But, if Quinn wasn't good for her, then who was?

* * *

><p>Evening fell and with it the sun and with the sun's falling a beautiful pallet of pinks and oranges and reds stained the sky, illuminating the ocean. Brittany sat on her patio with Noah, drinking ice cold beer and taking in the scenery. She smiled as a giggle floated in from the house where Mike and Tina had drifted off to. "They're so happy."<p>

Puck took a drink of his long neck, "Yeah, they are," he murmured.

"What about you?" She shifted in her chair, blonde hair falling into her eyes. She tucked it behind her ear and gave him a saucy look, "Who are _you_ seeing?"

He raised his shoulders as he grinned, "You know me."

"So the question I should be asking is who _aren't _you seeing?"

Puck let out a dry laugh, "Exactly."

"Santana Lopez?" She questioned in a soft voice. Her main reason for asking Puck to hang today was to get the scoop. But, now that she had brushed the subject she couldn't help but feel uncomfortably invasive. Who was she to dig into her personal life? And why was it so important for her to know?

Puck shook his head. "Negative. She's been seeing some director guy from France. I think she's going to be in his next film." He made a face as if to say, _go figure._

"Does she do that a lot?" asked Brittany, "Date the people she works with?"

He let out another chuckle as he cocked his head in her direction, "You got it backwards blondie."

Brittany licked her lips as she took another swig of beer, her throat suddenly dry as she waited for the Noah to spill, "How so?"

"Come on, Britt. It's Santana Lopez. You've heard the rumors. Hell, I've personally told you like half of them. The Puckster doesn't lie. Unless, I'm trying to get in your pants in which case anything goes. But at this moment, I can honestly say I'm not trying to sex you up."

Brittany's eyes fell as certainty hit her like a speeding bullet, "She sleeps with guys to get the parts."

"Bingo!" said Puck "Why the sudden interest in her?"

Brittany tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. The truth felt like a poison overtaking her body. She had to shake this school girl crush with haste, "No reason."

* * *

><p>When things became too much for Brittany, her work suffered. Her thoughts would race around running into each other, short circuiting her creativity. When she couldn't write, she danced. Dancing required little to no thought. The only rule she had when she danced was, <em>don't fall down<em>. But, in all honesty she's even broken it a time or seven.

Because of this. Because of her world and her words piling up on each other, Brittany found herself at The Planet with Alice and their friends Bette and Tina. At night, the quaint cafe turned into an all girl dance party, called Radar that Carmen DJed. Brittany and Carmen were together for two years. So she knew exactly what kind of beats Brittany liked and like a dutiful ex-girlfriend she played them non-stop as Brittany hogged the dance floor.

Which is exactly what Brittany did. Except the dancing didn't keep the thoughts away the way it usually did. They meddled with her body's movement, invasive like a cancer. So what if Santana slept around? Brittany liked sex too. A lot. It was on her top five favorite things. So, what if she was the town bicycle? Brittany liked bicycles too. She could make room on her list and add bicycles as a favorite thing. She dipped down to the floor, her body grinding against the air as she came up. She made a point to never judge anyone. She knew she was...quirky. She knew that some people didn't get the weird little anecdotes that flew out of her mouth before she had the chance to stop them. Like the time she was standing in line at Starbucks and told the stranger in front of her that her hair smelled like lemon grass and the pot brownie she consumed on vacation in Canada. This was a compliment, _a huge one_. But, the woman made a face that said "I hate you" and asked Brittany to back away from her. Judgement fucking stung.

She wondered if that's why Santana looked the way she looked. So pretty and perfect all of the time. Always dolled up. She wondered if she took the make up off would she see the stings from the whispers. Because there were whispers. Hollywood never shut up. If she heard them, she knew Santana had to of too.

* * *

><p>This was a bad idea.<em> No<em>. This was a shit idea. _No, worse_. Whatever came after bad, shit idea. Was_ this _idea. But, still she went along with it. Sunglasses securely on of course. Quinn grinned back at her as she lead Santana through the crowd of pulsing bodies- all women -mostly beautiful. She clenched tighter to the pale hand in her own as her heart raced. She could leave now. She could get out of here before anyone saw her and started asking questions.

They sidled up to the bar and Quinn ordered their drinks. Santana took a deep breath as she collected herself. This was social suicide. She was cocking the trigger to blow the brains out of her career. The bartender held out their drinks. Quinn grabbed them both and shoved one into Santana's face, "Drink."

"I gotta get out of here, Quinn," Santana said instead of taking it. "This is bad for me. Someone could see me here!"

Quinn sat the drink down as she wrapped her arms around Santana's waist. Right as she opened her mouth, a squatty brunette woman sporting a crew cut clapped Santana on the back. "Your girlfriend's beautiful!"

Santana's face screwed up offensively, "She's not my girlfriend." But, Quinn's eyes lit up and an enormous smile split across her face, "Thank you!"

The woman nodded as she moved along. Quinn turned back to Santana, "They think I'm hot! I've always been a lesbian favorite. I think it's my hair." She giggled as she took a sip of her drink.

"This isn't fun for me, Quinn." Santana wiped her clammy palms against her legs. She took a deep breath, but the frantic look in her eyes remained. "I want to go."

Quinn surveyed her friends face, her heart breaking. Santana was never comfortable. _Ever_. Not here with people who understood what she felt. Not out in the world where she was afraid of telling people who she really was. She moved her hands to Santana's glasses, but before she could remove them, Santana's fingers pressed into her own.

"Don't," snapped Santana.

"No one is paying attention to you. The room is dark and just like I told Kanye West a couple nights ago at that Fashion Rocks party, you look ridiculous in these things."

"They stay on." Santana's voice was weighed down by fear. A sound that made Quinn's face contort with pity. She hated that look. She hated the way she could practically smell Quinn's compassion. It was nauseating. "Fine."

Santana swatted Quinn's hands out of the way and pushed the sunglasses onto her head. She let her eyes adjust to the dim lights of the crowded room. So many women. It was like being in Baskin Robbins, but instead of 31 different flavors of ice cream. There was 31 different types of girl. Except more than 31, like 100. And quite a few of them looked liked they tasted better than ice cream. They all looked so different.

And they all looked the same.

Her eyes slid over to the DJ booth. A stunningly brunette Latina worked the turn tables. Santana inwardly patted herself on the back. Her people looked damn good. She watched for a moment as the DJ looked up, locked eyes with someone on the dance floor and erupted into laughter. A laugh so full, she doubled over in her stand.

Quinn followed Santana's line of sight and grinned, "I Googled her. Her name's Carmen de la pica Morales, also known as DJ Sugar...You like? "

Santana shook her head slowly from side to side, "She looks like my cousin, Marisol."

Quinn studied the DJ, who at the moment was making a motion for a beer in between her giggles. "Oh, she totally does." She shrugged as she turned back to Santana, her arms again snaking around her friend's waist. "Doesn't matter. You have a platter of hot women before you. Go forth!"

Santana couldn't help but laugh at Quinn's eagerness, "You honestly don't think I'm going home with any of these women?"

"Why not?"

Heat flushed her face as anger boiled, "You fucking kidding me, Quinn?"

Quinn stepped back, making sure to keep her hands on Santana's hips, "No, I'm not fucking kidding. You're gay. Everyone else in this room, not including myself, I can only assume is gay. What's the problem?"

Santana swallowed back the insult that was on the tip of her tongue, something about Quinn fixing her own shipwrecked love life instead of prying into Santana's, instead frigid air breathed past her lips. Quinn was being a friend. Or whatever. She was trying to help. Whatever. But, Santana didn't need.

She wasn't ready for it.

"Look, Q, I know you're tying to be like concerned or some shit but-" Her voice got stuck in her throat as the DJ booth caught her eye again. There Brittany was, grinning as she held out a beer to the the woman at the booth. The DJ was trying to conceal a smile and maintain a glare, her hands placed on her hips. She watched their silent interactions. The smiles, the way they leaned in to speak. They had to known each other.

And then Brittany leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek. Santana's heart sank.

And then Brittany kissed her on the forehead.

Santana's heart sank lower.

Another kiss to the nose.

And lower she sank.

Quinn whistled lowly, "Kurt owes me twenty bucks. I totally called that at Zimmerman's party."

"Called what?" Santana croaked, her eyes never straying from the booth. She watched as Brittany took the other woman's hand and spun her around. Why was she feeling like this? Why did her heart feel like it was suddenly six times heavier than usual.

"Writer girl being in to chicks. You don't pull that much lesbian innuendo in your films and still be straight at the end of the day. _Just saying_. Anyway-" Quinn brought her attention back to Santana, "I think you should at least try talking to someone. If anyone recognizes you and asks why you're here, we'll say I'm a fledgling lady lover and you're helping me get my gay wings."

Brittany embraced the woman, gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and scampered out of the booth. Santana shook her head as she pulled her focus back to Quinn. "I want to leave. _Now_."

Not waiting for Quinn to protest, Santana turned on her heels. She pushed roughly through the women wanting to be anywhere but where she was. Every stepped toward the door, she felt her heart getting lighter. In a minute she would be out of the place and onto safe ground. But, as she reached the exit, the unthinkable happened. Before she had a chance to do so, the doors opened and in strolled Noah Puckerman and some fore lone guy with a goatee. He had the same smug smirk that Santana thought Puck had trademarked years ago.

Noah grinned as he took her in, "Santana Lopez, what the fuck are you doing here?" He gave her a quick hug and then waited for an answer. Her tongue suddenly felt thick and useless, she swallowed back and opened her mouth, but no words came out. The truth had never been so close before.

A light hand was placed on her back and her eyes fluttered close in gratitude at the sound of Quinn's voice, "She's here with me. I was nervous about coming by myself so I made her come with me. Hey Puckerman."

Puck clucked approvingly, his eyes registering knowingly, "I always thought you were gay. Is that why you never gave me a chance?"

Quinn grimaced, but she shook her head to the affirmative, "That's exactly right, Noah. I didn't give you a chance because I'm into girls. It wasn't because you were at the time screwing my best friend or because you have the personality of a wet cardboard box and the sexual prowess of a thirteen year old boy with Tourette's Syndrome."

Puck balked. The man beside him laughed, "I like you. What's the gay one's name, Puckerman?"

"This is Quinn Fabray and of course the wonderful Santana Lopez. Ladies, this is the world renowned Mark Sloan. He's a plastic surgeon, just in case either of you are in the market for one."

Mark held out his hand to the women, when he took Quinn's in his own, he gave her a pointed look. "I would just like to go on record to say that although I'm a recent father to an teenager, I still rank number two on my ex-sex friend's hit list. She's dating women now, so we had to cool it."

Quinn grinned, "Who's number one?"

Mark shrugged, "Her girlfriend. But, there's a love thing in their too. I think that if she were ranking on sheer physical attributes, I would win."

Quinn laughed. Santana rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Quinn to be found a fraud and they would have to give another lie for what they were doing here. She pried Quinn's hands from Mark's and forced a smile that was mostly all sneer. "We have to go."

"Fuck no. We just got here, Lopez." He took her hand from Quinn's and steered her back into the crowd. "You gotta meet the crew. We're in with the owner, Kit, so we got a sweet table by the stage."

He gave her a smile that the dark room misconstrued as warm as he lead her through the crowd. It was happening again and she couldn't stop it. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach nagged a notion, a truth. He was leading her to Brittany's table.

And he did.

Thankfully, Brittany's back was to her, so she had a chance to compose herself. A curly haired woman, a little older than Santana- maybe thirty-five -raised her glass of wine to Puck as she saw him. "You made it!" Her smile was genuine and her brown eyes were warm.

The woman had her hand intertwined with a blonde around the same age with docile features. Her lips thinned against a smile as she waved at Puck. None of this made any sense. Women didn't welcome Puck. They shunned him. Or tried to hit him.

When Mark and Quinn caught up, Puck went around the circle with introductions. Santana learned that the two women holding hands, were Bette and Tina. They'd been together for fucking ever. Next to Tina was a woman she recognized but couldn't place a name with until Puck said it, "Dana Fairbanks." A pro tennis player. Was she a lesbian too? Next to Dana, was a woman with a pixie cut, similar to Quinn's but without the pink. This was Alice. And when her eyes slid over Santana's body, she had never felt more like a piece of meat.

"And this..." Puck tapped Brittany's shoulders and she turned from the skinny Joan Jett look alike she was laughing with, "Is Brittany Pierce and Shane McCutcheon."

Brittany's blue eyes grew as she took in Carmen. The woman next to her waved. They nodded politely as Puck introduced Santana and Quinn and then turned back into their conversation. Either unimpressed by the introduction of a famous star, or uninterested. Or was that the same thing?

Every one except Brittany who still hadn't shaken that deer in headlights look from her face. Puck, Mark, and Quinn made themselves comfortable as they sat. Brittany stood and grabbed another high back chair from a nearby table and pulled it over for Santana.

Chivalry. She wasn't expecting that.

"Thanks." She mumbled as she sat down. She discreetly tried to motion to Quinn, but she was too enraptured with Mark and with blowing their cover to notice her.

"So..." She heard Brittany start, "Why are you in a gay bar?"

Tina's voice strummed inside of her mind, "It's not just a gay bar. Straight people come here too." She repeated the words she was told not eight hours ago.

Brittany was watching her with slightly glazed eyes and a smirk. Like she knew those lines were rehearsed. Like, she knew the truth.

But, she couldn't.

Because she didn't.

"Why are you at a gay bar?" Santana asked.

"Because I'm a fucking awesome ex-girlfriend." replied Brittany as her eyes shifted back over to the DJ booth. "And because it's a Friday night. Where else would I be?"

And then it clicked. She's not sure why it took so long. "You're gay." It wasn't a question. But, Brittany nodded anyway.

"Also known as heteronegative."

"That's how you know my cousin? Did you guys date?"

"I told you at her party, I met her through Arizona." Brittany smiled as she she nodded disapprovingly, "You're a terrible listener."

"So you dated, Arizona?"

"It's a rare occurrence, but not every LA lesbian fucks their friends. Although, once I did go with Alice and Cristina to a brothel. People don't get married there."

Santana's eyes brows quirked, "What?"

"Chapel." said Brittany. She stretched out her arms, her back bending. Her short dress riding up her toned, pale thighs. Santana snapped her eyes away from the flesh.

_The sex dream_. The panting in her ears. The fingers inside of her. This was the body that did all of those things. She felt a flush begin to creep up her neck, under her jaw and heating up her cheeks. She swallowed hard as she pushed away the mental images, "What about it?"

"It's not the same as a brothel." Brittany's eyes lazed over the crowd and then back to Santana. She smiled.

"Yeah. So?"

Brittany gave her a confused look, "I don't understand your question."

She shook her head, "Never mind."

* * *

><p>Santana looked uncomfortable Brittany mused. Like that time she was getting gas in Meredith's truck and she had pulled up to the wrong pump. The tank was on the other side. So she had to go back in after turning the truck around and ask the woman at the cash register to start the meter over again and when the woman had asked why, she had to explain it. But, she's not good at talking in crowds. The line was only four feet deep, but that was big enough to cause her to stutter. And stumble.<p>

And start talking about her cat.

Santana looked like Brittany was sure she looked that afternoon. Unsure of what to say. Unsure if everyone in the store was judging her. Unsure of where to place her hands. She watched as Santana clenched and unclenched her fingers. She was so beautiful. Even with all of the confusion and tension shading her features, she was the most beautiful woman Brittany had ever seen.

And the scent.

She knew better than to lean over and smell her, but her scent was so fucking nice. Everything about her was so...nice. And familiar. But, how could that be?

She leaned over and tapped Santana on the leg, "Do you want to dance?"

The moment the question came out of her lips, Brittany regretted it. Santana looked as if she just asked her to murder an infant. "What?"

"I just..." Brittany hummed nervously, "You looked uncomfortable sitting here. I thought you would feel better dancing. The DJ here is amazing."

"Are you hitting on me?" asked Santana, her eyes set firmly. Brittany had been asked this question before, by other women. She had been all those times and even if she hadn't been, she liked to see their faces light up when she said yeah. Being hit on by a hot chick was a compliment. Brittany felt complimentary.

But, with Santana it was different. She shook her head slightly, "No."

And she meant it.

This seemed to be the right answer because Santana let out a deep breath and chuckled, "Good."

She fiddled with her fingers as Brittany counted the beats to the song that was ending as Carmen smoothly transitioned to the next. Rhianna's "We Found Love."

Brittany stood, her body already swaying, "I can't sit here while something this glorious is on. So do you want to come? In a totally platonic, not-hitting-on-you-gay-girls-can-dance-with-straight-girls kind of way?" She held out her hand in front of Santana, her fingers tickling the air.

No one had bothered her yet. If it somehow got out that she was in a gay bar, she had Quinn as an alibi. Girls dance with girls. That's just how it's done. So she stood, grabbing Brittany's hand. It was soft, softer than any guys she had held, softer than Tina's and Quinn's. Softer than she had thought they would be.

Softer than they had felt on her body in her dream...

Brittany pumped a fist into the air. "I feel like Will Smith right now!"

* * *

><p>Santana knew her way around a beat and around a body. In the dark, sweat inducing dance floor while Rihanna sang about love and yellow diamonds, Brittany could feel herself falling.<p>

It's happened before. Frequently. There was something about the raw energy of two bodies colliding with each other and a melody that made Brittany weak at the knees. She was usually intoxicated to some extent as well. But, nevertheless, she could feel her emotions wrapping around her dance partner, in the exact same way she would wrap her arms around their waist.

And she did. Santana froze momentarily as Brittany's arms snaked around her waist to pull her in, but she quickly recovered the rhythm.

Except this was the part that Brittany usually stepped back. She would thank the woman for the dance and excuse herself to get some air. She would regain her footing in the world, remind herself that it was an illusion and the feelings would dissipate. It was the strangest thing. Going from zero to sixty and then back down to zero in under two minutes.

She wondered if anyone else could do that? Or was she special?

But, was it special to be able to turn your feelings off without a second thought the way she could?

Was she broken?

She tightened her grip around Santana as she tried to push away her intrusive thoughts. The dance floor wasn't the place for them. As she ground her hips against partners, a hitch of breath caught in Santana's throat. Hearing it, Brittany grinned into Santana's hair. She spun her around so that Santana's back was against her front. Sure, this was the part where she usually walked away. It kept things simpler.

She liked simple.

The last time she went against the routine and she stayed locked in a dance with a girl, she fell in love with her. The kind of love she wasn't sure existed. The kind of love, songs were written about.

Her eyes drifted over to the DJ booth where Carmen and Shane leaned into each other, smiling.

Brittany couldn't think of a single day she regretted being with Carmen. In all honesty, the scariest thing about ending with her, was thinking she would never see her again.

So, maybe lightning could strike twice? Santana let her ass grind into Brittany's pelvis causing the taller woman to grip tighter at her hips and squeeze her eyes shut. Thank God for the shitty lighting.

* * *

><p>Santana's momentum was finally waning. They danced through track after track, from Tiesto to Cascada, back around to the ever present Cher. When finally Santana, flushed cheeks and all gripped Brittany's shoulders, grinning. "I have to take a break!"<p>

Brittany smiled as she leaned in, "Do you want something to drink?"

Santana shook her head. Brittany clasped their clammy hands together and did her best to ignore the electricity she felt as she lead Santana through the bodies and over to the bar where she ordered two beers. She passed one over to Santana and held hers up to cheers. Santana rolled her eyes as they clinked their bottles together.

"You're a good dancer." Brittany said, doing her best to lean in and come off the least predatory as possible. An arduous task, seeing as though Santana stood in front of her, panting. Her tan skin was flushed and a slight sheen of sweat coated her features. The tight shirt, pushing her breast up and directly into Brittany's face wasn't helping either. Not that Brittany was complaining.

Santana nodded, "Of course. My people weren't given these asses to just sit on. You're good too."

Brittany smiled receptively. _You're good too._ Santana said it with such lackluster emotion, but the words felt better than the time her name was announced for an Oscar. Silence engulfed their small space. Santana's dark eyes peeled over to crowd, her pupils dilated. There was something about her. Half of the time she looked terrified and the other half her posture smacked of boredom. Brittany took this small window of oppurtunity to take in Santana's features. The full lips, the plump cheeks, the way her body was rigid against the back of her barstool. As if she was waiting for something to happen. Maybe she was still uncomfortable?

Maybe she could still here the whispers?

Santana turned back to Brittany and grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. "What?" She asked.

Brittany didn't know what to say. "I like your face." Seemed way to informal for a woman who had spent the better part of their time in the past insulting her. So, she said the next most logical thing she could think of, "Does this mean you don't hate me?"

Santana's smile fell. She took another swig of her beer and sat it on the bar. She bit at her top lip and for the first time that night, her demeanor eased. "I don't hate anyone. Except Sarah Jessica Parker, but I have good reason."

Brittany grinned. Santana didn't elaborate and Brittany wasn't about to push her. It was enough to know that there was a tiny glimmer of hope for a friendship. Or at least...

"Are you busy tomorrow?" asked Brittany.

Santana shook her head, "I have a mani/pedi thing at noon, but other than that, no. Why?"

Brittany took a second. Was she doing what she thought she was doing? Was she going to regret this in the morning when she awoke in her bedroom, safely away from the illusions of the dance floor. This Santana was the same Santana she had outright denied before. This Santana was the same Santana who spread her legs for shitty movie parts. What was so different now? Was anything?

"Tomorrow we leave for San Diego to do some more auditions. But, I can meet you early before we go to audition you." The words tumbled out before Brittany could bite them back. She licked her lips in anticipation. Santana didn't look enthused. Usually when she offered actresses auditions they went into sudden hysterics. But, Santana didn't do that. Instead the rigidness came back and with it the uncomfortable eyes.

Such bright eyes.

"Okay," Santana finally said as she picked up her beer and took another swig.

* * *

><p>Santana's reflection stared back at her through the mirror. This night wasn't going how she expected. Which wasn't a bad thing. In fact, it was the exact opposite of a bad thing.<p>

It was a great thing.

Quinn had been too involved with drooling over Puck's old friend to get so drunk that they had to leave early and Santana had to listen to her cry for the rest of the night. This lesbian place had good music. And nice women.

Brittany's friends were nice. A little abrasive-especially the one called Alice, but they were funny. Hysterical even.

The cherry on top, though, was Brittany. She was this weird, blonde, flexible dance goddess. Everything about her was so unexpected. The audition? Totally unexpected. She doesn't know what changed the writer's mind, but she's grateful for it. This could be the exact role her career needs. A chance to show the world and Hollywood especially that she was more than just a pretty face. The stock character. She could show them that she didn't have to sleep her way to the top.

_Not that she would be totally against sleeping with Brittany..._

A rap sounded at the bathroom door and Puck's voice followed as he pushed the door open and entered, "Man meat comin' through!"

"This is the girl's bathroom, Puckerman." Santana said looking at him through the mirror.

He grinned as he sidled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's unisex." The room fell silent as he watched her reapply her lip gloss. He was giving her a look she was all too accustomed with. He smirked as he trailed his fingers down her arms and to her hands where he covered them with his own. "You were so hot on the dance floor tonight."

Hairs were beginning to stick up on the back of her neck. Not from arousal, but from something a lot more dark. She knew where this was going. "Of course I did."

"And you and Brittany together? Fucking smoking." He nuzzled her neck. Puck never admitted he knew she was into women, but he hinted around it. After her tiny foray into his assistants pants, he made sure to drop little telling hints. He knew the risk of coming out, he knew she had to stay in. And like every other stupid fucking ridiculous person in this business, his silence could be bought.

"Yeah?" She heard the tone in her voice drop. A habit she'd conditioned herself to do in situations such as this. She turned in his arms, pressing herself against him. "Not as hot as you and I together though, right?"

Puck grinned, "You got that right, babe."

* * *

><p>Alice smirked as she watched Brittany as Brittany watched the bathroom. "Are you fucking kidding me, Pierce?"<p>

Brittany grinned and turned around, "What?" She knew the obvious attempt of oblivion was futile when it came to Alice. She was the nosiest person Brittany had ever met. If there was a scoop, Alice would get to the bottom of it.

"You're totally into actress girl. She's hot." said Alice. "If you don't bring her over to the dyke side I might have to do it for you."

Brittany rolled her eyes as she stood making her way to the bathroom. She opened the door and was met by the tell tale grunts of two people trying to fuck quietly. Brittany grinned. This wasn't the first time, she had caught people doing the dirty. The Planet's bathroom was notorious for it's lewd encounters. Maybe that's what was keeping Santana? She was stuck in her stall, not wanting to disturb the tryst. As Brittany dropped down to check, her heart sank. The only occupied stall was the one emitting the moans. And that discarded red pump resting on it's side was definitely Santana's.

And that gruff voice moaning, was definitely Puck.


	4. Between the Lines

Here it is. Let me know what you guys think! Also, a ton of thanks to Arkantoz for being patient with me.

* * *

><p>It was Santana's moan that made her flee. Brittany backpedaled out of the bathroom and was halfway to her table before the door loudly swung shut. She knew they had heard it. In all honesty, she was counting on it. When she got back to the table, Alice was standing and spying on Dana through the crowd. Alice's behavior was so typical. She never wanted something until someone else had it.<p>

"I have to go." Brittany cringed, hearing the strain in her voice.

Hearing it too, Alice snapped from Dana to Brittany, "What's wrong?"

"Puke. Feel sick. Drank too much. Danced too much." Her lie was simple. Believable. Alice gave her a pointed look. A look that said she saw through Brittany, but she let it go. She had bigger, gayer fish to fry. Gay Fish like the skank giving Dana sex eyes.

"Do you need me to give you a ride home?" The question was obligatory. Alice had no intention on leaving her post to take Brittany. She wasn't even making eye contact with her anymore; her line of vision was too busy taking in the scene across the room, instead of the frantic look in Brittany's eyes.

"No, I'm okay." And she tried to be. She tried to smile and laugh as she said her goodbyes to everyone and made plans to see them soon. She made her way out of The Planet as politely as possible even though she was practically aching for freedom. The instant she walked out into the night, her lungs hungrily gulped in the fresh air.

Good for them. Right? Good for Puck. Right? A real connection with another person was a fucking hard thing to find. Especially in LA and in their shared professions. She hailed down a taxi cab. She had no right to feel this way. Her stomach had no right to feel queasy. Her heart had no right to be broken.

She should've stopped that dance. The feelings caused by the aftermath of it were all her fault.

And worst of all, she had to see Santana in the morning.

* * *

><p>Santana silently reprimanded herself for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes.<p>

She was just being silly. She'd been drinking and she had been dancing and the mediocre round in the stall with Puck had drained her. It was a coincidence. Pure and simple. Brittany's abrupt disappearance had nothing to do with her. She was probably spent too; she danced harder than Santana had. But then, who had been at the door?

Santana suddenly jerked her head to the side as though she could shake out all the confusion clouding her thoughts. She slid into the taxi cab, behind Quinn. It could've been anyone. _Anyone_. The Planet was packed. Brittany was tired. Brittany had no idea about her and Puck and tomorrow she would call Santana. Besides in the unlikely event Brittany did know about her and Puck, who gives a shit? Santana was a grown ass woman. She got to do who and what she wanted.

But, still.

She exhaled loudly as her head rolled back against the seat. But, still _nothing_. Brittany wasn't a factor.

"Are you okay?"

Santana turned to find Quinn staring at her with arched eyebrows and a pinched forehead. She could only imagine how strange she looked wrestling with her thoughts for the past few minutes. When suddenly- it hit her like a ton of bricks. Her face fell and she gripped at the cracked leather seat of the taxi cab.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked again, her voice on edge. Santana shook her head slightly. Brittany didn't have her number. She had planned on giving it to her when they parted ways so she could call tomorrow and set up a venue and time for her audition. _Fuck_. Why did she leave? Why wouldn't she mention she was going? Why the fuck didn't she ask for her number?

She could ask Puck to text her Brittany's number. But then she would be risking the chance of a round two. She could have Quinn tell Puck to text Brittany Santana's number. But what if Puck mentioned their bathroom session? Whatever. That didn't matter. She was an adult.

Adult.

_Callie!_

She could get the number from Callie. It was almost two in the morning so her cousin was either just going to bed or just getting up for her shift at the hospital. She knew that Callie had explained her schedule to her once, but she was too busy not listening to remember it.

Fuck.

Callie would have to do. She'd risk the monumental bitchfest she'd endure for waking her up or disturbing her rounds. Santana picked up her phone, her fingertips hesitating on the screen.

Brittany danced with her half the night.

And she smiled at her. But, it wasn't the usual smile people threw her way. It was full and warm. It was a smile that Santana could feel in her bones.

She offered her an audition for a role that had the potential to change the trajectory of her career. Santana had yet to see the script, but she was _so sure_ of what it could mean for her.

They'd spoken briefly and when she told Brittany that she didn't hate her, the way the writer's face lit up was enough to make her elaborate. Almost.

So what went wrong?

Santana pinched her eyes shut as she tried to relive the night second by second.

They were sitting at the table with Brittany's friends. Puckerman kept running his hand along her leg. She pretended not to notice. She had to pee: badly. So she got up, went to the bathroom, peed and then fixed her lip gloss.

Fuck. The truth was staring her in the face like a train barreling down a track. Obvious and dangerous.

Brittany must've come looking for her after both she and Puck vanished.

A cold hand covered her own, pulling her out of her thoughts, "Santana, why are you be such a freak?"

"It's nothing." Santana snatched her hand away and stuffed her cellphone into her purse. She would have to figure this out after Quinn left. Until then everything was peachy fucking keen.

* * *

><p>Santana had dressed in the most appropriate outfit she could find. Blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was simple, but not as if she had just rolled out of bed and pulled on the first pieces of clothing her hands had touched. In actuality she had antagonized over the simplicity of it.<p>

She drank a full pot of coffee after Quinn had dropped her off. She paced. She worried. She got two hours of sleep. Thank God for make-up. Thank God she was naturally stunning. Thank God for big ass sunglasses. The early morning wardrobe crisis had taken up most of her attention, but now that she stood fully dressed, she had to admit this idea was..._weird_. Maybe borderline creepy. Whatever. She could attribute it all to her stellar work ethic. She gulped past her worry. It was piling up in her throat with bile and the taste of regret. She could turn and walk away now and no one would know.

A breeze off the ocean hit her full force and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She turned and surveyed the view from Brittany's wrap-around porch; sandy beaches and endless ocean. Maybe she should've gone with a beach property too? Maybe then her life wouldn't be so...

Shut up. She shook herself. She was here on a mission. She'd already worked out what she was going to say when she rang the doorbell.

_"Hey Brittany! Callie suggested I take down your number and address because I forgot to give you mine last night! I wasn't sure of your flight so I thought I'd come early!"_

Except not as perky. She needed to stay aloof. She learned a long time ago that in in this industry, when people think you don't care, it makes them want you more.

She needed Brittany to want her more.

Resigning herself to whatever fate she was about to meet, she rang the doorbell.

Silence mounted. From inside, no movement. She knocked again and waited. Her heart beat quickened as fear began to trickle in. Did she miss out? Was Brittany gone already?

"Lopez, what the hell are you doing here?"

Her eyes clenched shut at his voice. This was not happening. Except it was. It was and she couldn't make it go away. She turned on her boot heel and found him standing at the other end of the porch wiping sleep out of his eyes. She'd woken him up.

"Noah, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I asked you first," He let his hand fall to his side as he grinned, "You here for round two?"

Santana rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, "Do you live here? Is this not Brittany's address?" She reached into her pocket as she spoke, pulling out her phone and retrieving Callie's text message. _342 Chestnut Way_. This was it.

"Sometimes when I get drunk, Britt lets me pass out on her couch instead of driving across town to my place." He was watching her now. Except he wasn't watching her. He was digging into her, trying his best to peel back her clothes. He wanted underneath them. He wanted under her skin.

"Why are you here?" When he spoke, he made eye contact. Something he seldom did. It was an intimidation tactic. She knew because she had mastered it a long time ago. She had to.

"Brittany wants me to audition for the movie." She gulped as shock registered on Puck's features. Well, sort of. He was hung-over from the looks of it and had probably just gone to bed. So his "shocked" face looked more like a bowel movement that wouldn't move.

"Britt asked you?" His tone was incredulous and dripping with disbelief. Santana felt the contours of her face souring. What had Brittany been saying to him? Why was it so unbelievable? He said it himself; she was more talented than the films she was put in. Also, why the hell did he have to continue with the "Britt" shit? They couldn't be that close. He didn't wait for her to answer as he turned beckoning her to follow, "This way, gorgeous."

She shuffled behind him with trepidation, frantically reminding herself of who she was. That this was no big deal.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Santana noticed as she entered inside that Brittany's house felt just like Brittany: Warm.<p>

There were photos of friends everywhere and abstract art pieces probably made by obscure hipster artists that made Santana roll her eyes. She grinned as a framed portrait of a unicorn caught her eye. It was majestically glorious but still incredibly adorable.

The second thing that Santana noticed was a woman with thick curly hair staring sullenly at the ceiling from where she laid on the floor in the center of the room. She recognized her from Callie's party. But, like most people who didn't interest her, she couldn't recall the name.

"Britt, you got company!" Puck shouted into the house as he stepped over the woman on his way to the couch. It was black and overstuffed and obviously very broken in. (Santana thought back to her own couch. It still looked brand new, the only people who ever sat on it besides herself was her managers and Quinn.) As he sat he pointed to floor, "That's Cristina. Cristina that's Santana."

Cristina moved her arm from across her face and turned her head slightly to look to where Puck pointed. Santana smiled back, wanting to make a good (second) impression on a person who (maybe) influenced Brittany's decision. "Nice to see you again." She ignored the strange look Puck gave her and followed up with a friendly, "How are you?"

Cristina used her elbows to push herself up to a sitting position, "He implemented an 80 hour work week. 80 hours! I'm stuck at home on a Saturday. Saturday's are one of our busiest days. Idiot humans try to do to idiot human things like barbecue or clean their rain gutters. Have you ever seen a man with third degree burns? It's seriously cool."

She threw herself back flat onto the floor as she exhaled loudly, "I don't need to be here I need to be wrist deep inside of someone. I need an OR to _live_." Her voice was calm despite the hysteria in her eyes.

Santana nodded knowingly. She had often witnessed the same meltdown with Callie, "Have you declared yet?"

Cristina cocked her head quizzically at Santana, "What?"

"Have you declared your specialty yet? Doctors who aren't interested in just general surgery usually pick a field to specialize in." Santana's eyes roamed around the house trying to covertly take it all in without being noticed. Everywhere she looked she found something to question. A photo of a pretty older woman who was too Asian to be Brittany's mother. A stack of Playboys on the bookcase she hoped belonged to Puck. A broken model of a rocket ship resting on an end table. Her eyes came to rest back onto Cristina was had the same perplexed look on her face. "That's how it's usually done."

"I know that. I just don't know why you know that. That was a really long sentence." She lay back down. "I'm impressed."

Santana smirked. Her hair triggered rage receded into admiration. Cristina had balls.

_"My dino shaped luffa is missing. I expect it back in its rightful place by the time I return."_

Santana's hands clenched hearing Brittany's voice, her pulse quickening. She had been showering. Her hair was still wet and she was tightening the towel around her body as she spoke. She looked tired, but beautiful. Her eyes lifted from her task and came to rest on Santana, her lips forming into a silent "Oh."

Cristina lifted her head and looked between Brittany and Santana, "She's eveeerywhere." She put emphasis on the word as she grinned, and then let her head flopped back against the floor, "80 hours. _Who does that_?"

* * *

><p>Santana had an office at her house that was seriously for decorative use only. It had the latest Apple technology and an understated beauty. But, she could count on her fingers how many times she had actually used it. Brittany's office, though, was chaotic. Pencils and pens and pieces of screenplays littered her desk. Her file cabinets had papers protruding from the edges and there was a ton of empty Starbucks cups littering about. The theatrical posters from her two movies were framed and hanging on the wall. On the bookcase (resting right next to a small sculpture of a cat) was Brittany's Oscar, polished to a tee, but still hiding reclusively in the chaos.<p>

Brittany rummaged through her desk drawer. She was fully dressed now, but her hair was still damp against her shirt. Santana took the seat that Brittany forgot to offer. There was something off. Brittany's usual relaxed posture was rigid. She reminded Santana of herself.

"When's your flight?"

"3:15."

Brittany's voice was flat. Santana drummed her fingers against her thigh. She didn't have to explain how she got her home address. Well, Brittany didn't let her at least. After she got over the initial shock of seeing Santana standing in her living room chatting with her friends, she said she had to get dressed and zipped back into her bedroom. A few minutes later she re-emerged with cloudy eyes and led Santana into her office.

And here Santana sat, feeling nerves she had no idea her body possessed.

"Got it!" Brittany pulled out five sheets of paper bound together and closed the drawer as she sat up. Santana reached out for it making sure their eyes connected. She felt her face flush, but only for a moment. Brittany quickly shifted her eyes toward the door as she stood. "I know cold readings are no fun. But take a minute to look it over." She walked around the room tossing the empty cups into the trash can. "Her name's Molly. I've noticed I have a tendency to write characters who are... disillusioned. So, I wanted to try something different."

Santana's eyes grew as she read down the paper, she looked over to Brittany who still had her back to her, "There's a rape scene?"

"Yes." Brittany tossed the last cup into the trash and turned around. "But, I think it's best for this reading if you don't know the specifics of it. It's set in New York. Post 9/11. I wanted to capitalize on the uncertainty and the fear. Which was hard to do without drudging up all the already rehashed shit. Did you see Remember Me?"

Santana shook her head, no. Brittany frowned.

Santana offered, "I like that guy though." She's not sure why she added that bit of (dishonest) information. Brittany's frowned deepened and she turned back around. This was stupid. Maybe she should just ask about last night? Clear the air? Except, she wasn't sure how. If Brittany had left because she was with Puck then that meant something she wasn't sure she wanted it to mean. And if she didn't, then Santana was bringing it up like some weird muttering fool for nothing. Which was worse. She watched as the muscles flexed in Brittany's back through her shirt as she moved. She picked up her Oscar and held it.

"I'm thinking of writing a movie about roller derby next." She sat the award back down and turned back around to Santana. She was watching her silently, her face as flat as her voice.

Santana grinned, "Roller derby, huh?"

Brittany nodded, "And I want to work in Unicorns if at all possible. It's like the movie of my dreams." She grabbed her desk chair, moved it across the room from Santana and sat down. Santana blinked once, twice and let go of the feelings that said Brittany didn't want to be near her. Why?

"Good luck with finding the funding."

"I need to be away from actors while they audition. I tend to get distracted by the close-ups if I don't scoot away." She shrugged as she bit her index finger nail.

Brittany had answered without her asking. Santana shrugged, "It's whatever."

"And I practically have carte blanche right now." Another apathetic shrug. Another obvious attempt to avoid eye contact as she studied the walls of a room Santana knew damn well Brittany knew like the back of her hand.

Silence fell as Santana focused back on the sides. She needed to be good at this. Great even. She needed this part.

* * *

><p>She'd been on a lot of auditions. Not lately of course, but when she first started out her life was a steady stream of general meetings and auditions. Nervous was never the word to describe how she felt during them. Excited? Hopeful? Inspired? None of those words really fit either. There was an energy during her early days of auditioning. Hollywood was still this magical fairytale place that she needed to be a part of. But, when the auditions started piling up and her phone still wasn't ringing she got bitter. She was forcing herself to reckon with the possibility that yes, Hollywood was still this magical fairytale place but, life wasn't. And even though it was still their shining in the distance, she was still on the outside looking in.<p>

Even at the bleakest point of her career, nerves never got the best of her. Her drinking? Maybe.

But, standing across from an impassive body and the most intense ice blue stare she'd ever witnessed, she was quivering. She could hear herself flubbing lines and emoting at incorrect moments. Brittany never flinched. She watched silently, her mouth pressed into a thin line. The scene ended. Santana shook her head. That was cringe worthy. Brittany licked her lips and flattened her palms against her jeans, "Thanks. We'll be in touch."

Santana balked, her lips parting to silence. She fiddled with the edges of the paper. "That was bad, right?" She was refusing to make eye contact now; her voice was too soft for her to stand.

Although she didn't see it, Santana heard the shrug in Brittany's voice as she said, "Cold readings are a bitch sometimes. Thanks for your time."

Brittany stood reaching for the sides. Santana let out a dry laugh, "No, I can do it. You got me drunk last night."

"Santana, it's fine. You were fine." The ambivalence was gone from Brittany's voice. It was crisp now. So professional, it stung.

"No, I can do it."

"It's okay."

"Brittany-"

_"No!"_

Santana sat back, bruised. Brittany looked so stern, her eyes blue steel and her jaw clenched firmly. Santana was overwhelmed by the smell of tension in the room. For the second time in less than 24-hours the truth barreled into her. The words were spilling out before she had a chance to stop them. "You know nothing about me." Her voice was smooth and hushed despite the fact that she could feel a sob rising in her throat. This was the moment of truth that both of them had been dancing around all morning. "You think you know, for some reason. But, you don't. What did Puck tell you we fucked? Did he tell you that I once gave him head in a movie theater? _What_?"

Brittany's jaw relaxed as her mouth slowly parted in disbelief. She tried to speak, but could only usher out air.

Santana's brown eyes were an intense black. The calm was slowly giving way to anger. Her nails pressed into her palms as she clenched her fist. "You didn't like me before you walked in on Puck and I fucking in the stall last night. You didn't like me before Callie's party. Or before that day in the boardroom. Tell me what it is that's so gross about me. Tell me what makes me less of a person than you."

She watched Brittany gulp. Close her mouth. Open her mouth. Gulp again. She trembled. Something inside of Santana shifted. Mercy, maybe? She stood, grabbing her phone. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Despite her effort, her voice still trembled as she whispered, "You don't get to pass judgement on what I did to survive, Brittany."

* * *

><p>Santana's heels slapped across the floor as she power walked out of the house. She could feel her tears brimming and the tell-tale signs of a stress headache on the horizon. Puck and Cristina were thankfully nowhere to be found because the tears she told to stay away were already streaming down her face. She couldn't understand why she was reacting this way. This wasn't her. This had never been her. She was half way across the driveway and she could barely walk because of the sobs crippling her body. Or maybe this was her? Maybe the real her saw a chance to break free back there with Brittany and now she couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop and she hated herself for it.<p>

She slammed the door as she got into the car. She started it up, but couldn't make herself function beyond that. The tears were coming too quickly. Her breathes were roughly tearing out of her throat as she struggled for oxygen. Her heart was breaking. This was suppose to be it for her. All that hope for nothing.

She'd never be able to have a chance to prove she was more than just a pretty face. She could see her life before she'd lived it. She could feel the misery. Her entire body was shaking and she could taste snot on her tongue. She let her head fall against the steering wheel as she took deep breath trying to calm herself, but it didn't help. She was on a downward spiral. Just like her life.

* * *

><p>She could've been there for ten minutes or an hour, head resting against the steering wheel, she wasn't sure. Finally the tears had stopped. She took a shallow breath as her heartbeat regulated. Her hands clenched at opposite sides of the steering wheel. She needed to go and forget about hope. And Brittany.<p>

Her life had been so much simpler before she met Brittany. She'd continue her career the way she had started it, making bank while cashing in on the false hope of some frat guys teenaged dream.

She coughed as she sat up and just like _that_ she could feel the tears rebuilding. Brittany stood at the front of her car, her hands resting on the hood watching Santana with eyes glowing with empathy. This was the last thing she needed. Wanted. Roughly wiping her face, Santana threw the car in reverse, but her foot idled on the brake. When Brittany realized she wasn't moving, she walked around to the door and waited.

Santana hesitated, but eventually gave in and rolled down the window. She couldn't think of an insult. She couldn't even find her voice enough to ask what she wanted. Brittany leaned in and used her thumbs to wipe the runny mascara from under Santana's eyes. She felt her eyes flutter at the contact. Brittany used her nimble fingers to tediously move the strands of hair from Santana's eyes. Santana wondered if this is how it felt to have someone care about you.

"The part's yours if you want it, Santana." Brittany pushed a lock of hair behind Santana's ear, gave her a small smile that was all sympathy. Without another word, she turned around and made her way to her porch and back inside of her house.

A speechless Santana watched her go as she tried, yet again, to catch her breath.


	5. Common Ground

I decided to send this one out before my beta got back to me. She's MIA at the moment and it's probably all my fault, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer than I already have. All the mistakes are mine! Your thoughts on story progression are always appreciated!

* * *

><p>Brittany leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to the sharpness of the light in Bailey's office. She tapped at the screen on her phone. It re-dialed the number she had been trying on and off for the past thirty minutes. Voicemail again. To the room, she spoke.<p>

"Read it."

"I've read it six times already."

"Read it again, Bailey."

Miranda sucked her teeth and gave Brittany a pointed look that went unnoticed. She clicked back over to her email and read the text she had practically memorized.

_Miranda, _

_Although Santana is delighted by your interest in her for your upcoming film she must regrettably decline the offer. She appreciates your confidence in her abilities and hopes to have the opportunity to work with you and your studio in the future. _

_Best Regards, _

_Kurt Hummel, Senior Agent_

Brittany clenched her eyes shut tighter as she hit her phone again. Same number, straight to voice mail. She sat up. "That's not even a response. That's a stock answer. I bet they just placed your name in a blank and sent it out."

Miranda shook her head in agreement. She watched Brittany as she dialed the number again, muttering under her breath.

"_Fuck_." She tossed the phone onto Bailey's desk.

"So I guess the next question…" Bailey stood up and walked over to the open door of the office. She peeked out before shutting it and turned back around to Brittany, "Is what did you do?"

Brittany balked, unprepared for the question. "What did _I _do? I didn't do anything!"

"Bright Eyes was number one on The Blacklist. Sam Mendez and Gus Van Sant have both came up to us and offered to direct it. This office is bombarded daily with fruit baskets and flowers and trips to Tahiti in exchange for a part in it-"

"I know that." Brittany interrupted an edge in her voice.

"So what happened? What did she say when you offered her the role?" Bailey was watching her in a way that made her skin crawl and her cheeks flush.

She met Bailey three years ago. She was a nobody living on the fumes of hope sending out screenplays to everyone she could, solicited or not. Bailey took a chance on her. She brought her in and helped her hone her writing while simultaneously teaching her the business and helping her carve a spot for herself. Bailey was a second mom, one that her actual mom called once a week to chat with. She was the closet thing to a stage mom she would ever have, but without the hysterics. It was for that reason that Brittany felt like she was thirteen again and her mom had found out she had gone to Max Finkleman's party and got so wasted she puked in their mailbox.

Brittany nervously bit at her index finger as she brought her eyes up to meet Bailey's. She repositioned herself on the edge of her desk, eyes never straying from her writer.

"I told her..._at first_...that she was okay and that we would be in touch."

Brittany added the last bit in a rush of breath. She scrunched up her face preparing herself for the war of words that were about to spew out of her mentors mouth.

A tiny vein appeared at Bailey's temple as her eyes rounded into shock. She cleared her voice. "Why?" The word came out tight and forced.

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, "Because she wasn't."

"But, then you offered it to her. Why?"

Her brow furrowed. She clasped her hands together. She felt uncomfortable telling Bailey about their conversation in her office. Or more accurately, Santana's break down and her complete lack of control of the situation. That morning everything had happened so fast. Santana was there, but she wasn't. She was reading the lines, but her voice was hollow. Her eyes though, were chocolate orbs of frenzy. She was flubbing the audition yet her eyes were still stealing the scene.

Stealing the morning.

The afternoon.

And even the night. Large, frantic, tired eyes that were the darkest of brown Brittany had ever seen were the last thing she saw before she fell asleep that night.

And the first thing she thought about when she woke up this morning.

Brittany gave another shrug as she stood. "You know how impulsive I can be sometimes. Remember that lizard I bought when we were in Arizona meeting with that guy who smelled like Mardi Gras and old cheese?"

Bailey shook her head. She didn't believe her and Brittany knew it. She stood up and rounded her desk, sitting back down in the lush office chair Brittany had bought her last year for her birthday. It was pink and it absolutely did not fit in with the decor. Brittany had insisted she have it because it was _so Bailey_.

Miranda Bailey hates the color pink, but she loves Brittany, so the chair stayed. She settled into it yet again before diving back into her email and reading the message to herself.

Her eyes never strayed from the computer screen as she spoke, "Santana would be perfect for this role, Brittany."

Brittany's hand lingered on the door knob as she sucked her lips into her mouth, "I know."

* * *

><p>Her dad always said she was a headstrong kid. It was usually after he or her mother had denied something and she fought tooth and nail for them to overturn their ruling. It never took long. After a couple of well timed screams and loud door slams, he would be hovering above her smiling down and patting her head to calm her down. He would give in (or make her mother) to whatever it was that she wanted. She was his <em>feisty little niña<em>.

As the years progressed and her family aged and blurred and became something she didn't recognize her temper became more hostile. Feisty little niña became _ungrateful little bitch._ Her father's compliance and mild mannered personality gnarled into frown lines and glares and an ever present grimace. Her mother's beautiful skin wrinkled into regret for a wasted youth. Her family home became so quiet, until the arguments started. When those fizzled out, the silence crept back in and settled into the curtains and duvets and into themselves.

She did them a favor when she left.

That was five years ago and even though so much had changed, so much still hadn't. She was still the same feisty little niña.

Or ungrateful little bitch.

That one was probably more fitting.

* * *

><p>She sent her assistant a text that simply read "K."<p>

Her flight was booked for Noon. In two hours and some change she would be out of LA and shacked up in some criminally overpriced hotel room in Cabo.

She sent over another text to her assistant, "Make sure the hotel room is high on swank and low on people wanting to take their photos with me."

A rapid fire response came back with a, "Sure thing, Ms. Lopez."

She tossed the phone down on her bed and surveyed her room. Clothes and shoes were everywhere and in the middle of her bed her luggage was open and half full. She could forgo the headache of matching clothes while packing and just stuff seven bikinis in for her week long stay. She could eat room service whenever she wanted and she would never have to leave her hotel room.

There were definitely worse ways to spend a week.

"_Santana_?"

Startled, Santana spun around ready to strike. Her breath rushed out as Tina smiled back at her.

"You're jumpy today."

"I wasn't expecting anyone. I told Elena no visitors. My stupid fucking cousin won't back the fuck up out of my business." Santana sat down on her bed and hit ignore as another call came through. She glanced back over to Tina. "Why are you here?"

Nervously Tina gulped. She forgot how intimidating Santana could be. Their very first session her hands were so clammy she could barely grip skin. The way the actress was watching her, eyes darkened and eyebrows arched expectantly reminded her of that first night. "It's Wednesday. We always meet at ten on Wednesdays because you have your meeting with your agent in the afternoon."

Instantaneously the annoyance coating Santana's features receded into softness. She frowned as she stood. "I forgot." She walked over to her nightstand and fiddled around inside. "I have a flight at noon."

"Oh..." Tina repositioned herself. "I'll go then and you can just call whenever and reschedule." She turned quickly.

"Wait."

Tina slowly spun back around. Santana still had her back to her, hands rummaging through the stand. Finding what she was looking for, Santana stood back up holding an envelope stuffed with cash. She held it out to Tina who immediately shook her head.

"I can't take that."

"Yes, you can." Her hand clutching the envelope still hovered in front of Tina's startled face.

"Santana, I can't take that. That's not how it works. I..._you know_...and then you pay me."

Santana's lips pursed as she noted how uncomfortable Tina had become. Her eyes flitted to the clock on her night stand. 10:08. She needed to hurry this up. Using her free hand she grabbed Tina's left hand and smacked the envelope into it. "Consider it a cancellation fee. I didn't call you and cancel the appointment you and I mutually agreed to have. You wasted precious moments of your life and half a tank of five dollar a gallon gas. I owe you."

She turned back around and grabbed a purple shirt, inspecting it. Deciding it was Cabo approved she quickly folded it and stuffed it into her luggage. She could feel Tina's presence behind her still, unmoving. Ignoring it she continued to pack for her trip.

Three shirts and two pair of jeans into folding a soft voice filled the room. "I can't take this, Santana."

"You need it more than I do." She kept packing. "Medical school is expensive."

"But, I didn't...Earn it."

Santana let out a deep breath as she stood up straight, her eyes pinching closed. Tina's quiet voice echoed throughout the room. It was so melodic. If they had the type of relationship where questions were asked and answers were given, she would ask Tina if she was a singer.

And if Tina said no, she would tell her she should be.

Santana's eyes shot open as an idea hit her. She snapped her body around to Tina and covered the small distance between the two of them in no time. With a smirk, Santana cupped Tina's face with her palms and pulled her in. Their lips mashed together briefly before Santana pulled back and released her hostage.

"That was against the rules, right? A fine or something is due? Take the money."

Tina's mouth parted to speak, but Santana quickly clamped her hand over it. "Shut up. Either take the money or I'm going to run it down my food disposal. If you're that hell bent on _working for it_, you can help me pack."

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later Santana and Tina proudly looked down at two luggage bags stuffed to the brim with perfectly folded garments.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>5 PM<strong>.

Brittany sank back into her couch. She wasn't use to an empty house, but Cristina decided to fly to Ohio to fetch a heart for some last minute surgery. With little hope she pulled out her phone and called Santana. Voice mail again. She hung up without leaving a message.

The quiet made her ears ring. She tucked her legs underneath her as she reached under her couch and pulled out a small tin box that held Puckermans stash. She opened it and the pungent aroma filled her nostrils. She sat back as she broke down a bud.

What had Santana meant when she said what she _did to survive_?

She stuffed a small piece of fragile white paper with weed.

What did she need to survive? Brittany read her Wikipedia page a million times. Her parents were wealthy. Her dad was a doctor, her mother a dancer. Maybe that's where Santana learned all her awesome club moves from?

She rolled the paper and sealed it with spit.

And she was wrong. Brittany didn't _not_ like her that day in the boardroom. It was all overwhelming. One minute she's in Lexi's kitchen and there's blood and missing fingertips and the next she's in a boardroom filled with suits and some actress you couldn't pay her to cast clawing at her pride and joy.

Brittany hit the joint, held the smoke and then let it billow from her lips. Her skin was warming; the sunlight coming in from the windows was getting softer.

Maybe "clawing" is an exaggeration, but still.

She wasn't ready. And when she's not ready she doesn't know how to react. Maybe she could've handled it differently? Maybe she should've attended those media training classes her publicist kept trying to force her into? Maybe now the situation would be different?

So many maybes. So much smoke.

But that's all Hollywood is, right? Smoke and mirrors and maybes and heartache.

Another swirl of smoke spun from pale lips. Brittany rubbed at her chest. She'd been going so fast all day trying to contact Santana and pacify Bailey and her team that she hadn't realized that her heart was aching.

It had been since yesterday.

"_If you smoke it, I will come_."

Brittany sputtered into a cough as Puck crashed down next to her. She doubled over as the hacking continued. He rubbed at her back, a grin playing on his face. "Breathe Britt."

She took a deep breath and did as she was told. Her face was red when she came back up, holding the joint out for Puck. She cleared her throat. "Hope you don't mind."

He took it from her fingers and took a quick hit, "What's mine is yours. Especially when left in your house."

"So if ever there was some kind of blitzkrieg raid, I'll be the one going down?"

"Exactly."

She giggled lowly, once again resting back into the cushions. Her heavy eyelids closed and she couldn't stop them. She raised her hand again to rub her chest. She felt so warm and light and free. She could feel the setting sun on her face. She could hear the hiss of air as Puck hit the joint. She could see brown eyes. She could smell fear.

"She won't take my calls."

"Who?" Rasped Puck.

"Santana," she kept her eyes closed as she spoke. "I went to her house like eight times. She wasn't there. Her housekeeper said she went somewhere on a plane...Planes are so fucking scary, man."

Puck inhaled deeply and used the tin can to stub out the joint. He sat back. "Don't worry about her. The least Santana Lopez is in your life, the better. I know from experience."

Brittany let out a short laugh. She rubbed her eyes and opened them, her head turning slightly to look at Puck. "She's still in your life...You guys are still sleeping together. She can't be that bad."

"You have no idea." His voice was low and serious. His glazed eyes smacked of...anger? Maybe. Sadness? Yes.

Brittany turned her body toward him, "Tell me."

He smirked as he shifted gears into spotlight mode. Camera ready Noah Puckerman now sat next to her. "I loved her." He shrugged and though his body was limp with nonchalance Brittany believed him.

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes." His hand glided across his shaven head. "Why do you think I still stick around? You don't put up with someone who comes with that much baggage just because she's a good fuck. And she is, don't get me wrong. She's the best I ever had. Probably because she's the only girl I've ever been in love with."

Brittany rubbed harder at her chest, "So what's the problem? She doesn't love you?"

Anger so obvious glimmered in his eyes. He used his thumb to crack his middle fingers knuckle. "Eight months into our relationship, I catch her with her head between my assistant's legs. Just going to fucking town."

The revelation left his lips and he deflated. His anger dissipated and made way for a stoned, lonely man with nostalgia in his eyes.

Brittany's hand moved from her chest and clasped at Pucks. He gave her a small smile. "You're so sweet, Brittany. You shouldn't be in this business."

"So I hear...What was his name?"

Noah smiled. "That's the kicker..." He eyed her for a moment before he continued. She tapped at his hand expectantly. "Emily. Her name was Emily."

His smile grew as the appropriate response registered across Brittany's face.

"Santana's gay?"

His smile fell. "No. You're gay. She's just...confused."

Brittany snatched her hand away from his. Wobbly, she stood.

"You gotta pee? He asked. "Cause I need a beer if you're gonna stop by the kitchen."

Brittany shook her head. Everything was so thick inside and all the places that once felt so warm were searing.

"You've known this for how long?"

Puck shrugged, "Years, man."

"And she knows you know?" Brittany's voice rose with every word. Puck registered her aggression. He sat up slightly.

"I'm sure she does." He was quiet as he thought. "Yeah. She does. But, she's obviously not _gay, gay_ because she still lets me hit a home run when I want."

She took a sharp, silent breath.

Maybe one day when she looks back on it, Brittany will blame it on her drug addled state. She could feel her blood boiling and every synapse in her brain was firing at once.

And then she was in front of Puck and his eyes were wide and her fist was colliding against his jaw with as much power as she could put behind her punch.

She left her friend on her couch clutching at his bleeding lip and throbbing mouth.

* * *

><p>She had no time to pack. The last flight of the day was in an hour and she had to settle for coach. Her assistant had made it to LAX before her and she was waiting at the gate-on orders to stall the flight by any means necessary if needed.<p>

Luckily, Brittany was making good time. The cab dropped her off as closely as he could to the entrance and she dashed inside with twenty minutes to spare.

As she sprinted through the throngs of people, a familiar mane of shiny brown hair and a glimpse of a plaid skirt caught her eye. She sped up, murmuring _I'm sorry's_ and _don't hate me's_ as she pushed through weary travelers.

She came to a halt in front of Rachel Berry. She was a fine tuned, PA machine. She kept Brittany's life in order and handled her affairs swimmingly. Left to her own devices, Brittany knows she would sink.

She held out Brittany ticket and asked, "Where's your luggage?"

"Didn't have time to pack. Is this my gate?"

Rachel huffed, "Seriously Brittany, you're going to Cabo San Lucas. You cannot just show up without clothes. And yes this is your gate. I e-checked you in."

"I'll get some clothes when I get over there. They have stores, right?"

_Boarding flight 423 to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. _

Brittany's innards seized. She was doing this.

"I thought you would say that," Rachel continued unaware of the shift in Brittany's mood, "So I stopped at Harrietta's, the place where I do all my shopping. She's fabulous and she agreed to Fedex the goodies to your hotel room over night! I'm a really valuable shopper there of course she wasn't going to run the risk of loosing my business."

"You booked my hotel room already?"

Another conspicuous eye roll, "You said Esperanza Resort, right?"

Brittany shook her head, "Yeah that's where Callie said she was."

"Not a cheap place. I used the card you gave me a couple months ago to buy printer ink to book you a suite. The photos look heavenly. Don't choke when the bill comes in. Also-" Rachel dug through her purse.

"You still have that card?"

"Of course." She pulled out a small bottle of perfume and spritzed it onto Brittany's neck. She grinned. "How great does this smell? I mixed it myself. I call it _Barbara_. You remember that time we saw her in New York and I got to smell her while she was passing us to go inside the venue? This is _the scent_."

Brittany smiled. Rachel was bossy sometimes. And sometimes she made her feel like she wasn't as smart as her. But, times like this were reminders as to why they were as close as they were. They worked well together. They both needed the other in the same way. "Thank you, Rachel. And thank you for getting this all ready for me so quickly."

Rachel smiled back warmly, "It was fun! But, could I ask why you're chasing after Santana Lopez? I've had...encounters with her. She's not a nice person."

Brittany sucked at her bottom lip as she shook her head. Rachel had thrown this all together at the last minute and she couldn't even tell her why it was so important. "But, I will make this up to you." She promised as she began backing up to Security.

Rachel smiled again as she clasped her hands around her back, "Sounds fun!"

* * *

><p>Coach smelled funny. Everyone around her looked tired but anxious. She rubbed her hands together as she peaked out the window and out at the night sky. She hated that she was worried if Puck was okay or not. She hated that the thought of him made her skin crawl, but most of all she hated that she felt good punching him. Maybe when she got off the plane she would have Cristina check on him.<p>

Getting Santana's contact information out of Callie hadn't been easy. She had to promise to go with Arizona to some figure skating thing so Callie wouldn't have to. She also had to hand over a leather jacket that Callie had been eyeing since the day she brought it home and promise to bring her out to eat somewhere "_dingy and that Arizona would absolutely hate_" because Callie felt she was getting to soft for her liking.

She had no idea what she was going to do once she actually got there and came face to face with Santana, but she knew she had to see her. It couldn't wait a week. It couldn't even wait a day.

* * *

><p>The <em>Esperanza Resort<em> was an exclusive luxury vacation spot frequented by tons of Hollywood royalty. Rachel spared very little expense with Brittany's room reservation and after suffering a mild stroke while registering and seeing the grand total, Brittany was in her home for the next week. A beachfront Garden Spa Casita. You could take all of the cinematographers in Hollywood and combine them and they still couldn't come close to creating a view as beautiful as the one from her room.

* * *

><p>The villas of Esperanza were clustered together. She had to ask a Concierge to direct her to Anna Rodriguez's room. (Santana's code name) If she would've asked Brittany to craft a more suitable alias she would've been happy to help. Anna Rodriguez was so boring and obvious.<p>

* * *

><p>She stood outside the door, her heart lodged in her throat and her body trembling. Her clammy hands were clenched at her sides. Santana had a temper. A temper that Brittany knew she'd only seen a very small piece of. Still, with determination etched across her face she raised a hand and knocked.<p>

And waited.

She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears and a voice inside of her head begging her to run.

_Run away now as fast as she can_.

Then the door open and there Santana stood in a robe, her hair wet. She must've just gotten out of the shower. She looked rested. At least she did the moment before it took her to register Brittany standing in front of her.

The rigid posture, the hostile eyes, the venom all came soaring back into her body.

"What the fuck are you doing here? _Fucking Callie_."

That was the billion dollar question. The one that Brittany kept asking herself over and over on the flight in. The one she still didn't have an actual answer to. She gulped once, twice. Her tongue felt thick and dry inside of her mouth. She licked her lips instead. She wiped her hands along her jeans.

Santana cocked her head to the side, waiting.

Brittany inhaled deeply, "When I was younger my mom drank a little more than she should've...And my dad...Was gone a little more than he should've been...And I..." Her voice trembled, "I was in my head a little more than I should've been..."She let out a breath and took another gulp of crisp, Cabo night. Santana face was still frozen with animosity. Her arms crossed in front of her.

Brittany pressed on, "My teachers would always tell me that I needed to focus more on my studies because that's what would take me places, except...I'm not that smart and school wasn't fun...Writing was...Dreaming was. _Is_...I get it. What you do. I understand that sometimes reality really fucking sucks and it is so much easier breathing when you're living in a fantasy. At least for the moment."

Santana shifted from one foot to the other. She tightened her arms around herself. "Why are you telling me this?" She kept the rage painted on her face. Brittany bit at the inside of her cheek. Santana looked so angry and guarded.

She shrugged, "Because I've never told anyone else before. Except Cristina. But, she's...the person I tell stuff too."

"Gay love. How revolutionary."

"It's not gay. I'm gay. She's not gay. She's just...my person. I tell her stuff no one knows."

"Yet you still haven't answered why the hell you're here. I'm not doing the movie. I thought Kurt sent you people an email?"

"He did."

"So did you not understand it? No means no."

Brittany stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She tried to look Santana in the eyes, but it was too hard. She stared at the ground instead and repeated, "Those are the things people don't know about me..."

Her voice trailed off. She could hear the ocean licking at the shore nearby. And then,

The slightest gasp. She knows that if she hadn't been standing so close it would've been swallowed by the night. She looked up and back to Santana's face.

The anger was gone. Her eyes were glossy and her mouth hung half open. Her arms fell limp to her sides. Brittany watched the emotions shadow Santana's face all at once. Fear. Confusion. Betrayal.

And in the middle of it all, comprehension.


	6. One Thing

I wanted to get this up before midnight, but better late than never. I hope you like the chapter. Also, there are a couple photos on my tumblr of the hotel rooms in question if you want some visuals to go with your reading. As always, I hope you like, you guys rock! As does my beta! Thanks a ton, Dray!

Enjoy! (and let me know what you think).

* * *

><p>They stood in silence longer than Brittany had imagined they would. She watched as Santana's eyes dilated into a slate black. Maybe this was the wrong approach? Maybe it could've come out better?<p>

But, how do you tell a person that you're privy to their darkest secret?

There was no proper etiquette, was there? There was no way to prepare for such...silence.

Santana hadn't spoken. Brittany expected madness and denial. She expected violence and maybe tears. Rage or heartbreak or both. She hadn't planned on standing still watching Santana as Santana stared through her.

A breeze traveled between the two of them once again reminding Brittany of how close the ocean was and that the crashing she was hearing in her ears wasn't Santana, it was the waves. The tranquility of it all rang like the most condescending tune. There was nothing peaceful about this moment.

"Santana?" Her voice cracked. From dehydration or compassion, she couldn't be sure. "It's okay, you know?"

She finally focused back on Brittany. Without a word, she kicked the door open with the heel of her foot and stepped backward into the room, nervously running her fingers through her hair. Brittany followed her inside, shutting them in and away from the world.

She followed Santana down a hallway they lead into a larger sitting area. The walls of the room had been slid open and gave way to a breathtaking view of the ocean. Brittany opened her mouth to break the silence and hopefully snap the mounting tension, but before she could utter a word Santana abruptly turned on her and disappeared into the bathroom. Alone and feeling smothered by the silence, Brittany shifted uncomfortably. Being here was harder than she could've predicted. She thought back to the conversation she had had with Bailey. Maybe she was too impulsive for her own good sometimes?

Resigning herself to whatever fate this night held, Brittany righted her posture. She would do her best to be understanding, she would do her best to hold her tongue when Santana's legendary temper showed itself and she would most of all do her best to prove to Santana that she wasn't fated to some misery because of her sexuality.

Moments later, Santana emerged from the bathroom. She looked different, somehow. Her eyes had turned cold and her jaws were firmly clenched. She ignored Brittany as she walked to the opening of the room and pulled one of the sliding doors closed.

"I can help you," offered Brittany.

"_No_."

She stopped in her tracks, gulping loudly. That one syllable held so much ice that she didn't dare move another itch.

Santana swiftly crossed the room and pulled the other door closed, locking it in place, effectively muting the ocean. She stood still her hand grasping the clutch. Brittany watched her body heave with a deep breath as Santana turned slowly around; her hands came to rest on her hips.

She looked through Brittany again.

Brittany watched as Santana licked her lips and took another deep breath to steady herself and with her right hand still resting on her hip, her left hand busied itself with untying her robe. She pushed it off her shoulders and it fell to the ground in a white satin heap. Her eyes refocused back on Brittany, unrelenting in their disgust. Brittany wished she would just look through her again.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice hoarse. She looked everywhere except in front of her and at Santana's body.

"You're not touching me in my bed. We can get this over with here or we can go to the jacuzzi. Take your pick."

Santana's voice was clinical and crisp; it didn't mesh with the way her eyes bore into Brittany.

She shook her head and forced herself to meet Santana's gaze, "That's not what I want."

"You want money?" She shrugged, "Fine. I'll write you a check when it's over. Now _pick." _

Brittany eyes dipped down as she registered a slight quiver in Santana's legs. Her eyes roamed up, skipping over important places to stop on her hands. They were shaking. From fear or nerves or humiliation, Brittany wasn't sure. The only thing she could be certain of was the aching in her chest had reignited at full force.

And that Santana's body was going to give out on her soon, if Brittany didn't do something.

She covered the gap in between them and walked behind Santana. She bent down and gingerly picked up the robe. It was so soft it slipped through her fingers; she had to clutch at it with her entire hand to keep from dropping it.

"Don't be scared..." Brittany whispered, "I'm just going to put this back on your shoulders, okay?"

As she draped the fabric across Santana's shoulders, her knuckles gently drug against Santana's flesh. Her soft skin was on fire.

"Put your arms through, Santana."

She didn't budge. Brittany tapped at her shoulders.

"I don't know what you want, Brittany."

Santana sounded so small it rattled Brittany to her bones. It was like she was realizing for the first time in her life, that she couldn't use her body to get her way and she had no idea what to do next.

"I want you to put your clothes on."

Santana stayed motionless. Brittany wondered if she was going to have to be forcibly clothed, but finally Santana's shoulders hunched as she stuffed her arm back into the sleeve of her robe. When her second arm was inside, Brittany let the robe fall back against Santana's back.

Clearing her throat, Santana quickly tied it back and power walked to the bottle of bourbon sitting on the coffee table. She poured herself a drink that was gone in seconds. She poured herself another, drank half and set the glass down on the table with a heavy clank.

Santana stared at Brittany, her expression unreadable. There was no anger or sadness, just an inanimate face and flushed cheeks.

"So money?"

Brittany cocked her head to the side quizzically, "I have money. You know that."

"Then what the_ fuck _do you want, Brittany."

Her nostrils flared with her anger and the rouge in her cheeks darkened. Brittany stepped back as Santana stepped forward, toward her, bearing down. "You don't want to fuck. You don't want my money, yet you're here in my hotel room, effectively ruining my vacation."

She had Brittany's back against the wall, one step closer and their noses would be touching. Her chest heaved underneath her robe and the bourbon on her breath was so overpowering, Brittany had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment to focus.

Still, even in her anger, Santana was breathtaking.

Brittany shrugged as she side stepped Santana and swallowed a gulp of air that hadn't been permeated completely with Santana's scent. It didn't work; her tongue tasted bitter and ever so faintly of Santana, fear and loathing.

The whole room smelled like fear and loathing.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

Santana sat down on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her.

"I know you-"

Santana abruptly held up her hand, cutting Brittany off.

"Don't do that. Don't start talking as if you know me. You know one thing about me; you know a _piece_ of me." Her hand dropped from the air and she wrapped it around herself. "Don't act as if you wrote the whole book."

"Why would I want to write that book?" Brittany scoffed. "It's been written a million times."

Santana's eyes widened clearly stunned at the bite in Brittany's voice.

"Your story's unremarkable," pressed Brittany.

"_Fuck you_."

Brittany's lips thinned into a line. She walked over to the chaise that was tucked into the corner of the room and sat on the edge. She stuffed her hands under legs as she dared herself to look back at Santana. Brittany thought if she stared enough she could numb herself to Santana's petrifying gaze.

"Why didn't you try and deny it?"

"Deny what?"

"Being gay."

Santana rolled her eyes, her top lip curling. "Please. It was only a matter of time before Noah got drunk and let it slip to you. Did he tell you about Emily?"

Brittany nodded. She thought for the faintest moment she saw something flash across Santana's face, but it was gone before she could place it.

"Do you still see her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Santana's eyes narrowed. "Look. What do you want, Brittany?"

There was that question with no answer again. It echoed around the room, only to come back to smack her in the face. A yawn struggled past Brittany's lips. She clamped her hand across her mouth to stifle it. She hadn't realized how tired she was. She didn't bank on a vacation to paradise being so exhausting.

She grinned as an idea struck her like lighting against metal.

"One thing."

* * *

><p><strong>Cabo San Lucas, First Morning<strong>

She didn't slide her wall shut last night before she crashed into bed. She was still exhausted when she woke to sunlight warming her face. She'd never felt so out of place before. Inside, her stomach knotted and that same tugging at her heart pulled tighter. Reflexes caused her hand to shoot up and rub, but it elevated to nothing and she knew it wouldn't.

She was afraid to look at her phone. At last count she had forty two messages from Bailey. They started off calm and veered straight into chaotic. She wanted to know what the hell Brittany was doing in Cabo while they were in the middle of making a movie.

Brittany wished people would just stop asking her that.

She sent a text last night saying she was hunting Santana down to try and convince her to take the part. In reality, Brittany couldn't care less if Santana Lopez was in the movie or not. It stopped being about the film right after she popped Puck in the mouth.

Her one request to Santana had been not to run away in the middle of the night. She told Brittany that seeing as though she obviously had no choice, she would stay and after a sneered farewell Brittany was promptly kicked out of the villa.

She was half expecting Santana not to be there when she goes back. She'd be lying if she said a little piece of her didn't want her to be. But, that's only the part that still afraid to watch a scary movie by herself. It's the same part of her that caused her to check her door eight times before bed, even though she knows she's locked it. Maybe that's the part of her that's still a kid?

If so, then the kid inside of her is terrified that she won't be able to make Santana believe that everyone in this world isn't a piece of shit who just wants to use her to get rich or get off.

She dragged herself out of bed and ambled over to the suitcase full of clothes Rachel had overnighted. She could feel her face turn into a grimace as she pulled out plaid skirts and polo shirts in every pastel shade imaginable. She crammed the contents back in and righted her face as she glanced over her shoulders. Even in Mexico she could feel Rachel's presence hovering over her like a disapproving mother.

* * *

><p>Freshly showered and back in the clothes she wore yesterday, Brittany ate breakfast on her balcony. The ocean was as blue as her eyes and the sun kissed her cheeks and the wind brushed against her body in a way that should be criminal. One day, on better terms, she would come back here.<p>

* * *

><p>Santana was there when Brittany ambled out of her room and over to her villa. The walls had been slid open again and Santana sat in the same spot she left her in last night on the pale yellow L-shaped couch. She was dressed in a tight blue dress and her hair has been pinned up at the top of her hair, tiny ringlets of curls framing her face. Her dark brown eyes were painted darker and they gave off that smoky look that had always made Brittany's stomach flutter. In a word, she was beautiful. If it wasn't for the way her lips pursed together and the always present rigid posture of her back, Brittany would have thought Santana was enjoying her vacation.<p>

She gave her a meek wave as she entered inside. Last night, her eager need to be near Santana had been shadowed by the dark, but now in the daylight Brittany couldn't help but feel a certain embarrassment. Santana eyed her in that same caustic way, her eyes taking in the full length of Brittany's body sizing her up for the take down. She swings without warning.

"You were arrested when you were nineteen...Why?"

Brittany froze in her tracks as if hearing the news for the first time. When it registered that she already knew this she grinned and sat down on the couch, two cushions away from Santana. "If you know I was arrested, then you know why."

"You tell me."

Brittany shrugged. "I got stoned and I thought I could do a Pike flip off the couch."

She chuckled remembering. She had turned nineteen the day before and her parents had celebrated by getting so drunk they could barely stand. She had stayed the night at her girlfriend's parents' house.

Brittany wasn't uncomfortable knowing that Santana had obviously spent the night using her considerable resources to dig into her past. If anything the knowledge relaxed Brittany as she settled her back against the cushions. If Santana knowing every miniscule, unimportant detail of her life meant her not being threatened by the fact that she knew something she shouldn't about Santana, then she welcomed the third degree.

"And you couldn't land it?" asked Santana as she crossed and uncrossed her legs, her dress riding up to reveal a smooth expanse of toned thigh. Brittany's eyes darted away and out into the perfect Cabo day.

"My execution was flawless, thank you very much. I just...forgot how to walk after I landed and I fell into my girlfriend's parents China hutch." She let out a laugh. "Those plates were really expensive, which I never understood. Why would a person frame a plate? It wasn't even one of the cool Disney ones." Her smile sours, "Her mom called the cops. She was such a bitch."

"That..." intoned Santana, boredom clanging like church bells in her voice, "Is the lamest cop story I have ever heard." She raised her hand eye level and inspected her perfect manicure.

Brittany smiled. In the corner of her eyes she sees Santana's lip curve into a ghost of a smile. It's gone in an instant, but not before Brittany burns the memory of it into the deepest crevice of her mind.

* * *

><p>"I was sixteen when I realized it."<p>

They'd been sitting in silence for a solid hour. Brittany watched the waves rush in and out. Watched Santana pace from the bar to the couch. Watched her phone light up incessantly and the text messages fill up the screen before she finally turned off the phone.

She glanced over to Santana. She fingered the lip of her wine glass, her brow furrowed as if she was fighting to pull the memory back into the forefront.

Maybe it hurt her?

Brittany shifted on the couch. She tucked her right leg under herself as her left dangled to the floor.

"What was her name?"

"Who said there was a her?"

"There's always a her, Santana."

She watched as Santana fought the smile that forced its way against her mouth. She bit her bottom lip to contain it, but the damage was done already. Brittany smiled with her and wider when she realized that Santana's cheeks were turning the faintest red.

Santana shrugged as if she was trying to downplay the situation, "Her name was Allison."

"Allllisonnn." Brittany repeated, drawing out the syllables, inspecting the name with her tongue. She smiled at Santana and in that moment she realized that she'd never felt more like a seventeen year old girl. "Pretty."

Santana rolled her eyes but the smile still lingered, bashful and genuine. She stood again and walked over to the bar, grabbing the bottle of wine and a glass for Brittany. She filled it to the brim and passed it to her. When she sat back down, she was closer to Brittany. There was only one large, singular cushion separating the two of them. She placed the wine bottle on the floor.

It occurred to Brittany that she was probably amongst a handful of people who knew of Allison's existence in Santana's life and the pivotal role Allison played in it.

She may even be the only one.

* * *

><p>Her boots were kicked off and her body was stretched vertically across the couch. She took another swig of wine. It was mid-day and her body pulsed with the gentle rhythm of intoxication.<p>

Paradise felt a lot more welcoming.

She glanced over to Santana. She had moved down the couch, so that her back could rest against the arm. Her legs are stretched across the cushions, her toes pointed up. Her eyes are glossed and her body looks as if it's melted into the fabric. She's never seen her look so unrestrained.

"Guess what?" said Brittany. There was a giggle in her throat as she waited for Santana to take the bait.

Santana downed the rest of her wine, maybe glass three? Or five? She placed it on the floor, next to an already empty bottle and it'ssoon to be finished off friend. "What?"

"I punched Puck," replied Brittany as she struggled to contain the laugh that threatened to spill out of her mouth. Santana's eyes shoot open and there's a moment where Brittany isn't sure that she should've said anything.

Seconds later, Santana tumbling into laughter so raucous that it bounced off the walls, out of the room and into the wind. She clutched at her side, her head tilted back as if her every ounce of energy her body possessed was there for the sole purpose of a drunken fit of giggles.

Brittany couldn't help joining in.

* * *

><p>Brittany stood in the entrance of the sitting room watching as the setting sun dropped into the ocean, her body swaying with the breeze.<p>

"Your phone's going off again."

Santana told her from where she saton the couch, the same place she'd been all day. Her voice sounded like velvet and it's heavy with the burden that came with telling secrets.

Brittany gave a quick shrug of her shoulders without turning.

"They just want to know how I'm doing with wooing you back into the film." Her eyes closed as the thought of going back to LA and telling Bailey that she not only spent a week away during a pivotal moment in their career, but she was still without a lead.

"I thought this wasn't about the movie."

Brittany heard the subtle edge in her words so she turned and gave her a smile that she hoped looked reassuring. "Couldn't tell them that though."

* * *

><p>They ordered room service for dinner somewhere around seven. The night sky was a pale blue and the breeze chilled the sitting room. Brittany rummaged around in a hallway closet and finds two black velour blankets. She placed one next to Santana and used the other to cover herself.<p>

They ordered way too much, but everything looked so good and Brittany's too drunk to care about prices.

Santana picked out most of their meal. They had to get the pork osso buco, but Brittany wasn't even sure she liked orange polenta (or even what polenta is). Santana also ordered up two orders of something called, "The Tower" with a promise that Brittany will love it. Brittany made sure that Santana ordered whatever fruit they have that's the juiciest and Santana does but not without making some crude joke into the phone receiver.

Brittany watched from the couch as Santana laughs drunkenly, stumbling backward slightly and then laughing some more as she catches herself. She'd never seen Santana look so free. She'd never seen her eyes look so shiny without malice coating her face.

She hoped that tomorrow Santana would remember this moment, at least.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, she really did love orange polenta and Santana was right about The Tower.<p>

They sat out on the patio, each covered in one of the soft blankets sipping on something called a _Waborita, _Santana made. Brittany doesn't think she's ever felt so full before and even though Santana's mood keeps shifting between manic and misery, at the moment her eyes are serene as she watches the black sky dip into the ocean.

Despite everything, Brittany doesn't think she's ever felt this content.

* * *

><p>"Did it bother you?"<p>

They had moved their chairs closer together, to share the now empty pitcher of Waborita easier. At the sound of Santana's voice, Brittany roused herself from the sleep threatening to overtake her. She cleared her throat, "What?"

"What you said about your mom and dad, did it bother you?"

Santana's looked at her now, her eyes searching her face. Brittany shrugged with indifference her mind too caught up in the realization of exactly how close Santana's body had gotten to hers.

(She could smell the liquor on her breath.)

(She could see the tiny scar on her chin.)

"It did at the time."

Santana turned her body in the chair and she hooked her ankle around Brittany's. Her voice was soft, "And now?"

"They got a divorce five years ago. My dad has a new family. I have a half-sister now, which is totally weird." She thought back to last Christmas, how everyone had merged together at her place in LA and how it should've been odd because her parents were actively sleeping with other people and there was this snot nose kid following behind her, half the time with a sucker stuck to her shirt. It was amazing though, her parents were happy. "I like Joan, my dad's wife, a lot." She added so Santana knew this wasn't some sort of sob story.

"And your mom?"

"Is dating a guy named Steve. She only drinks on special occasions and at barbecues." She shrugged again, but added a smile to go with it. "Some people are better off apart."

* * *

><p>It was a little after midnight and Brittany was so wasted she could barely stand without teetering into something else. She realized two drinks ago that she should've called it quits somewhere around mid-day, but the momentum was on an uphill slope and there was little she could do except follow it forward. She collapsed onto the couch, next to Santana.<p>

"You're so drunk, Brittany," Santana remarked even though she herself could barely open her eyes. Santana was in the spot she started out in that morning, back pressed against the arm of the couch and her own arm, covering her eyes.

"I'm so not drunk." And even as Brittany professed her sobriety her words slurred together. She crawled up Santana's legs and laid her head on her stomach. Her eyes closed to the rhythm of Santana's breathing. Santana hummed as she deftly tangled a hand into Brittany's hair and scratched at her scalp.

They fell quiet. Brittany felt sleep tugging at her body when the hand in her hair became motionless.

"Brittany?"

"Hmm..." She kept her eyes closed as she wrapped her arms under and around Santana's back locking her in beneath her.

Her eyes peeled open as she realized that Santana's stomach has gone taut. She turned her head to look up at her, "What?"

"Thank you." The words came out in a rush and Santana's belly was trembling with air as it forced its way out of her body. "Tomorrow...Is probably not going to be like this...But j-just remember that today we were friends."

Brittany watched as she struggled to get the words out without letting the tears that had formed in her eyes tumble over the brim. "I won't forget, if you try your hardest to remember, okay?"

Santana smiled as she wipes at one lone renegade tear that has forced its way down her cheek. "I'll try."

She swallowed before she used Santana's body as leverage to pull herself up. She placed a kiss to her cheek, her lips pressing into clammy warmth and her eyes automatically shutting at the contact. She pursed her lips and kissed her again, this time moving every so slightly toward her lips. Her heart rate had doubled.

Or maybe that was Santana's erratic thump she felt?

Brittany let her lips fall again to Santana's cheek, right at the corner of her mouth and if it hadn't been for the slight tug she felt in her hair, she would've slid her lips to Santana's and kissed away all the grief she knew Santana felt. The tug had pulled her back to reality and brought the moment into such a sobering clarity that she pulled her lips away as quickly as possible.

Santana didn't need this, she needed a friend.

(And Brittany wanted to be that friend.)

Lowering herself back down, she let her head rest against Santana's stomach. The hand that had been scratching her scalp started up again.

The last thing heard before sleep finally pulled her under was a quiet voice murmuring, "_Please don't give up on me." _

* * *

><p>Brittany awoke with her pulse throbbing against her temple and her cheek squished into a fabric she couldn't place. She sat up and clutched her head as her stomach somersaulted. She felt nauseous and her mouth was dry and bitter.<p>

"Santana?" Her voice rang out broken and uneven. She stood, waiting a moment as she regained her balance before walking throughout the villa. She searched the kitchen, the bathroom, the patio and finally the bedroom. The blue dress Santana had been wearing yesterday was in a heap on the floor.

Santana was nowhere to be found.


	7. Paradise

Alright. Here it is kids. The song I used down there is by a lovely artist named Sia. It's called Breathe Me. Youtube is your friend. :)

As always, let me know what you think. Your reviews on here and your gray tumblr faces make this all the more fun for me.

Thanks Dray!

* * *

><p>Brittany laid back, the soft bed contouring to her weary body. Her eyes shut to the wave of nausea that swept across her body like a sandstorm. Her tongue was squirming in her mouth like sandpaper and all she needed right now to complete her dehydrated state was a box of rocks to chew on. She needed a shower and some toothpaste. She needed new clothes to change into and a strong cup of coffee. She needed to find her cell phone (if only to ignore the messages). But, most of all, she needed to find Santana and ask her if she remembered anything about last night.<p>

She wasn't sure which prospect was more terrifying. If Santana remembered everything then she remembered the sloppy kiss Brittany had placed to her cheek and the racing heart that accompanied it. But, if she didn't remember anything, then the woman Santana had been last night didn't exist. It was kind of like the tree in the forest thing.

"Actually, it was exactly like the tree thing," thought Brittany.

Because even though there may not have been any humans around to witness some gigantic red oak falling from the sky there still were witnesses-animals. Animals saw it and made it real. Made it exist.

Brittany saw Santana last night; more so than she had ever seen anyone before in her life. She saw her secrets. She saw her flaws. She witnessed this incredibly dynamic, wonderfully calloused wall (so high she couldn't see the top), crumble to the ground; only for a gentler, more soft spoken person to rise from the devastation. Santana had been some kind of beautiful phoenix rising from golden ashes surrounded by a cacophony of laughter. Brittany thought Santana's laughter may have been the most precious sound she'd ever heard in her life, even more wonderful than the first time she'd brought a girl to orgasm.

But, still.

Even though Brittany knew that the tree in the forest existed in all its beautiful, breathtaking glory before it fell, none of that mattered. Santana had disappeared.

And Brittany could feel herself disappearing too. She could feel fatigue sucking away at her like a leach to blood and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

* * *

><p>"<em>What did you do to her?"<em>

"_Your bill here could cover the cost of my loft and then some."_

"_Do you have any booze that doesn't rhyme with pansy?" _

"_If you drugged her, I'm calling the authorities! My dads are staunch supporters of our local volunteer firefighters. I have connections!" _

"_I want an island boy…How much money do you think one of them would cost? In blond." _

"_Stop leering at the door you syphilitic burnt Berry. Your incessant staring is making my skin crawl; I can only imagine how she feels." _

Brittany's eyes snapped open in time to see a mane of shiny brown hair whip out of the room.

"I did not have syphilis, Santana!"

She heard the slow rumble of Santana's response, but the words gurgled together incoherently. A few seconds later she heard the tell tale signs of Rachel's feet storming off, righteously indignant to whatever Santana's response had been.

Brittany sat up quickly, instantly regretting the movement as her stomach lurched and the throbbing in her head thundered. She gripped at the blanket to balance out her swaying upper body before pushing herself down the bed so her feet dangled to the floor. Her eyes found the window and from the way the sunlight cast low shadows into the room Brittany knew it was late in the day. How long had she been sleeping? Where had Santana gone? More importantly what the hell was Rachel Berry doing in Mexico? She had sworn off visiting after a late in life screening of Sex and the City.

Maybe she was still drunk? Maybe this was all a dream?

* * *

><p>"Definitely not a dream," Brittany thought, as they all stared back at her like she had snot pouring from her nose. She wiped at it with the back of her hand just to confirm there wasn't.<p>

Everyone was there. Sort of. Callie and Arizona sat together on the chaise flipping through what looked like a tourism brochure, both wearing big matching hats and white suntan lotion on their nose. Kurt sat by himself, an elastic band pushing his hair up and off of his forehead, creamy white moisturizing cream slathered across his face. Rachel sat rigidly on the couch, her arms crossed glaring at Santana who sat further down, her feet tucked under her reading a magazine.

Kurt had noticed her first. "You slept half the day away. I thought writers were natural born alcoholics?" He adjusted himself so his body was facing her, "Shouldn't you be able to just get up and go by now?"

"I got a liver transplant." It was the only thing Brittany could think to say and judging by the perturbed look on Kurt's face it was just enough.

Rachel shot over, her arms outstretched and her eyes large and glassy. "What did she _do_ to you? Are you okay? She didn't hit you did she? I was going to give you CPR if you weren't up in the next hour. I know what an unconscious person looks like."

Brittany's eyes shifted to Santana as she stood, dropped her magazine, and disappeared into the kitchen. Brittany watched her in silence as far as she could before slowly rolling her neck back to Rachel Berry and her stage whispers.

"I'm fine, Rachel. Honest. What are you doing here?"

"Brittany why are you wearing the clothes I sent you off in? You smell like my dads homemade cheese." Rachel's eyes shot open again and she shuffled in as close as possible to Brittany. "She didn't…Lock you up in here did she?"

Rachel gripped tightly at Brittany's hand as she waited for an answer. For a moment, she actually contemplated telling Rachel she was held captive against her will if only to witness the incredibly elaborate albeit completely genuine spectacle Rachel would most definitely put on. Instead she shook her head.

"No. I just haven't had time to change."

"I came here to take you home. Miranda's orders. We'll get you changed and we'll be on the first flight out, okay?" Rachel dropped Brittany's hand and crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes rolling, "I told you not to come chasing after Santana Lopez!"

The way she said it made it clear that she had been trying her best to not say it. But, like every other thought that had passed through Rachel's mind, it had to be shared.

Brittany's eyes shifted from Rachel to Callie and Arizona. They waved from the chaise.

"But, who's fixing the sick people?" asked Brittany.

"Temps from out of town. Some place in Seattle I think," Arizona said as she leafed through pages.

Callie nodded in agreement, "Seattle Grace."

"Is Cristina here?" Brittany asked hopefully, although knowing the prospect of the driven doctor being here was slim at the very best.

Callie grinned. "Seriously? Cristina Yang pass up surgery for a couple relaxing days of fun in the sun?" She giggled lowly. "Seriously?"

Brittany shrugged, "I know."

"I'm Kurt!" He interrupted, hand shooting up into the air his bottom lip pushing up the top in a half smile half sneer, "By the way."

He didn't like being ignored.

"We've met," was Brittany reply.

He clucked his tongue as he let his head fall back against the couch. Callie and Arizona turned back to the brochure and Rachel quickly went into assistant mode. "_So_. We leave here. I'm assuming all your things are still packed if you're still in this filth. I checked on our way over and I think Southwest has a flight out of here at eight. We just have to hurry."

At that moment, Santana returned carrying a mug of steaming coffee. Brittany watched as she carefully placed one foot in front of the other, making sure to not spill a drop. When she finally reached Brittany, she grinned triumphantly holding the cup out for Brittany to take.

"I put a lot of sugar in it." Santana shrugged, "I don't know why, you just seemed like a sugar sort of person."

"Sweet?" offered Brittany as she gratefully took the cup from Santana's hand, making sure their fingers didn't touch. (She didn't need a repeat from last night).

Santana laughed. "I was leaning more toward manic. Writers seem to live on extremes."

Brittany took a brutal glug of the golden brown liquid, "And apparently we're alcoholics."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So!" interrupted Rachel, way too loudly to even be considered as casual as she was trying to present herself, "Brittany you want to head back up to your place and get your stuff?"

Brittany saw a flash of panic glint in Santana's eyes before it was quickly lost in a pool of dreamy chocolate. Her voice came out effortlessly, "You're leaving?"

Calm. Casual. Aloof.

Brittany took another sip of coffee and cleared her throat. Her eyes slide quickly over to Rachel, before returning to Santana. She shook her head no.

"Brittany I told you, Miranda wants you back!"

"Listen midget. She doesn't want to go back yet. So chill out with pushiness before I call up one of these officials here and have your ass deported." Rachel's jaw dropped into silence. She had a perfect facial expression for every occasion.

Santana continued, "And can I just say, your OCD? It easily makes the number two spot on a long list of things I've never liked about you."

Rachel's clenched her jaw as her nostrils angrily flared. Still, her unrelenting need to know what people liked and didn't like about her took precedence over any anger she felt as she pressed, "What makes the number one spot?"

Santana grinned mockingly. Like a cat bearing down on a mouse who had done all the work and cornered itself.

"That outrageous, misshaped_ dildo_ sitting in the middle of your face under the ridiculous ruse of being a nose."

* * *

><p>They decided on snorkeling. Well more accurately, Callie and Arizona decided on snorkeling and everyone else was either bullied or bribed into joining them. They rented a charter boat and were guided into shimmery blue water by a tanned man with a soul patch, named Hector. He had a thick Spanish accent and his face reminded Brittany of the leather handbags that would line the windows on Melrose back home.<p>

As Hector recited rules and safety precautions to everyone, "_Chu have to be safe homes_." Brittany leaned over to Santana and murmured, "He has purse face."

Santana mouthed confusion at Brittany as Brittany straightened back up and turned her attention back to Hector, not offering any explanation.

* * *

><p>Brittany jumped first.<p>

The initial dive was exhilarating as much as it was terrifying. Brittany had always equated jumping into water with jumping into clouds. Clouds, she suspected, only looked light. But, on the inside, they were thick and coiled with fluff. Like marshmallows. And no one could tell her differently.

Terrifying, because the snorkeling equipment added an extra ten pounds easy and even though under water she was weightless, the jump in had pushed her further below than she had imagined it would. She momentarily panicked before she realized that she could breathe without drowning herself.

She watched as one by one her friends appeared beside her. Callie and Arizona bobbed beside her and then swam away chasing a school of particularly shiny silver fish. Kurt and the guy he had met at the dock who spoke about six English words slithered away as soon as they landed.

The wide brimmed goggles she wore made it so that she could see everything. And there was so much to see, everywhere. Schools of fish in blues and reds and patches of coral and even the occasional sting ray. _(Chu have to stay away from the sting rays homes and if a shark comes, haul ass like a race horse to la casa)._

But most of all she could see Santana and it looked as if, finally, under all this water away from the world, Santana could finally see her.

* * *

><p>They communicated in hand movements, showing each other different colored fish and coral. Brittany got particularly erratic when she noticed a pink starfish sucking at a salt rock. Santana grinned around her mouthpiece. They swam along the bottom of the ocean floor, occasionally hooking back up with a piece of their swim party only to leave them again, satisfied with the serenity they found in each others company coupled by the quiet ocean.<p>

* * *

><p>They somehow managed to start up a rousing game of tag that pulled everyone back together. Kurt tagged Callie. Callie tagged Arizona. Arizona tagged Santana. Santana tagged Brittany. And Brittany tagged that guy from the Harbor who spoke like six words of English but still managed to get the basic gist of water tag down. Speed swimming under water was arduous and if you weren't looking where you were going, treacherous. Hector was serious about avoiding those sting rays.<p>

* * *

><p>Everyone dispersed again almost as quickly as they had come together. Brittany found herself floating alone; keeping herself hovered just above the floor of the ocean, staring up at the sun and the diamonds of light it cut through the water. It was mesmerizing the way that everything up there glittered from where she stood. So disarmingly beautiful and misleadingly perfect. She was so lost in staring that she didn't notice Santana swimming toward her. It was only when she had herself pressed against Brittany her arms reaching around and doing their best to hug her in spite of their snorkeling gear, that Brittany noticed her. When Brittany hugged her back, Santana squeezed tighter.<p>

They stood there in the water, their arms wrapped around each other for what felt like forever, but still wasn't long enough.

* * *

><p>"I think it's a great idea." Brittany hushed into the phone, her back to her group of friends, wet hair sticking to her barren shoulders. She paused as the other person spoke, silently shaking her in disagreement as they spoke. "I know her. She'll want it." She stopped again, rolling her eyes in disdain. "Of course she won't admit it!"<p>

"_Brittany_?"

Brittany spun around quickly, ending the call with a touch of her finger. She grinned, caught, as Rachel stared back at her suspicion clouding her eyes. "Who were you talking to?"

"Lord Tubbington. He got in a fight with Charity. They always act like this when I'm not home." She grinned as she shrugged. "Cats, man."

"Brittany, cats don't use telephones. We've been over this. I swear sometimes I have no idea how you won that Oscar." Rachel swiped at her bangs, before crossing her arms as she waited for Brittany to clarify her phone call.

"I won it because I was better than everyone else. _Duh_."

Brittany used to think that Rachel took cheap shots, but after working together for so long it was clear that Rachel didn't take "shots" at all. She just didn't know what not to say. They were similar in that way, both having no filter and no way to stop themselves from following each and every feeling. That's why Brittany was in Mexico after all and that's why Rachel had insisted on following after her, if only to bring her home.

"Who was on the phone, Britt? I hate when you're secretive." Her eyes bulged suddenly and she closed the small distance between them, gripping Brittany by the arms. "Was it a _drug dealer_? I know the signs of addiction. I volunteered at the Women's Shelter when I was sixteen."

Rachel released Brittany's arms and cupped her face, scrutinizing her eyes, "Let me see your pupils, Brittany!"

"I'm not high, you freak." She gripped Rachel's wrist, her eyes traveling to the ruby red headband Rachel wore, "Is that a new headband?"

Rachel fingers relaxed as her eyes flickered to the ground. "Uh, yeah." A blush crept across her cheeks and over her nose, "Finn bought it for me."

Despite her effort to hold it in, Brittany snorted. "How precious."

"It's a really sweet gift, Brittany." Rachel stepped back touching at the red strap. "He likes to get me things that I like…He's a nice guy."

Brittany clucked as she intertwined her arms with Rachel pulling her back over to their group, "Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

* * *

><p>Brittany sat on Santana's bed barely moving as Santana shuffled around pulling out clothes for Brittany to wear in lieu of wearing anything Rachel had bought or offered out of her own luggage.<p>

"Tomorrow we need to hit up some shops and buy your ass some clothes," Santana said as she pulled out a black dress inspecting it, "I think it would ruin every perception I've ever built up for you if I see you in anything Rachel Berry has bought or owned."

"And what perception is that?"

"Huh?" Santana asked absent-mindedly, preoccupied with finding something suitable for Brittany to wear. When Brittany didn't elaborate, Santana turned toward her. Brittany's head was tilted and she was staring at her with shining eyes and a curious smirk: one that only grew when Santana's loud gulp filled the room.

Letting her off the hook, Brittany stood. She walked to Santana and grabbed the black dress out of Santana's hand. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah. Sure," chuckled Santana, a rush of air leaving her body. She turned back to her clothes, biting at the smile playing on her lips.

"Did you need like…a buffer or something? Is that why your cool cousin and her SHP is here?"

Santana spun back around, curious. "What?"

"Callie and Arizona. Why are they here? And why is that snotty agent guy here?"

Santana licked her lips, unable to give a coherent answer. Brittany watched her struggle and thought that maybe she should let her off the hook again. But where would they be if Brittany had done that earlier? She was in it too deep now to just start letting things slide.

And then suddenly Santana smiled. It was so devious that Brittany self consciously took a step back, her fingers clutching at the fabric in her hands.

"What was up with that _kiss_ last night?" She put emphasis on the word kiss, the k cracking from her lips like an arrest warrant. Her voice laced with a sultry edge. Brittany had been caught.

Brittany let out a row of tsks. Santana had remembered it, but that meant that hopefully she had remembered everything. She smiled as she brought her eyes level with Santana's. "I'm going to wear this dress."

"That's not an answer, Brittany," she leaned back against the dresser smiling, her fingertips tapping at the cold wood, "and that dress is short on me. It's going to be all ass on you."

Brittany felt her stomach back flip. This new Santana, the one who grinned instead of glowered at her, made her feel like she was in the middle of a crowded dance floor, made her body pulsate and her insides pull. This was another one of those reality check moments, where she should be reminding herself to go outside and get some air before she slipped too far into whatever it was she and Santana were cultivating. But there was no walking away from it this time. Instead, Brittany returned a smirk as she turned to walk to the bathroom. "I'll make it work."

* * *

><p>They found a hole in the wall restaurant for dinner called, <em>Eduardo's<em>. It won for two reasons. First of all, it was low-key enough for Santana to not have to hunch in the corner with a large pair of glasses on in hopes no one would recognize her. It was filled with locals: tanned and boozy. The wooden table that their party filled was worn from the bottom of frothy beer glasses and browned with water stains. Secondly, _Eduardo's_ also offered a small karaoke stage and Kurt and Rachel practically sprayed everyone in anger when another place was suggested.

* * *

><p>While everyone else ate, Kurt and Rachel fought over the microphone. They tried to duet with one another but every song ended with one vocally sabotaging the other by raising their voices to drown the other out. They got so loud during a rendition of <em>Cabaret<em> that Manny, the owner, asked them to step off the stage. It was only after they promised not to sing together again that they were allowed back on.

Brittany stayed at the table, reveling in the way her arm brushed against Santana's when one of them laughed or shuffled in the tiniest bit. Santana and Callie traded lively stories of growing up together in a way too rich, far to complex, Puerto Rican family. She learned that when she was six, Santana broke her arm because their cousin Juan told her she was too chicken to let him try out some of his karate moves on her. She kicked him in the nuts and ran the two miles home to her father afterward, broke arm dangling to her side.

As the night stretched further and the drinks came quicker, the stories became more embarrassing. (The boy Callie lost her virginity also took her backdoor virginity _completely on accident_ she promised.)

(Santana's dad caught her making out with not one but three of his patients' sons during the stint that he used one of the free upstairs bedrooms for his medical practice while his office was being renovated.)

They talked and laughed and shared stories and pretended not to catch the other staring when they did. Somewhere during the second verse of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and Arizona's coming out story, Santana had hooked her left ankle around Brittany's pulling her leg closer and covering it with her right.

Last night Brittany had thought nothing could top their moment on the couch, but feeling Santana's warm skin flush with hers and hearing Santana laugh instead of sob, she knew she had been wrong.

* * *

><p>There was screaming and tears and curse words being thrown each and every way (and maybe even in French) but after the tantrum, Kurt finally thrust the microphone into Callie's hand and stormed off the stage, stuffing himself into the seat on Santana's other side. Santana laughed as he fumed. "Dude, you've been singing for hours."<p>

"I was _just_ hitting my stride. Now I'm going to have to start all the way over so these _amateurs_ can have a slot. Singing should not be a right."

Rachel's wide-eyed resignation had been slightly more graceful. But it still took all of Arizona's might to pry the microphone from the death grip Rachel had on it.

"She's actually really good," Santana offered after taking a long gulp of her beer, "our parents use to put us in competitions when we were younger. They were all about vicarious thrills." She shrugged, "We won every one of them though."

Brittany quirked her head to the side, "You can sing?"

"_BABE! I GOT YOU BABE!_

Brittany's eyes drifted over to Callie and Arizona and the cornfest on stage and back to Santana. Couples should never be allowed to sing karaoke with each other. Ever. There was too much second hand embarrassment to be felt by all. She nudged Santana's shoulder.

"This is a question you have to answer, Santana."

"Yeah, I guess," Santana sighed resentfully, "my mom even wanted to see if I could make a career out of it. She hired this sketchy agent named Pete and everything. He had an office in the mall next to the food court. I nipped that shit in the bud quick." Santana laughed, her eyes clouding with nostalgia.

"Why? Isn't being a rockstar like every kids dream at some point?"

"Not mine."

"Acting was?"

Santana bit at her lip, her eyes skating over to Callie and Arizona before dropping to the table. "Yeah, acting was."

"_They are butchering the lyrics!" _

"_My dads sang this song at their thirtieth anniversary. It's much more compelling when two men are singing it as a piano ballad set against a starry night_."

"Then it settled. For your mom, you have to sing." Brittany stated matter-of-factly.

"My mother, God love her, is a cunt. I say that as a devoted daughter who gave her fifteen perfect piano recitals," replied Santana.

Brittany grinned. "Say that again."

"What?"

"Cunt. Say it again."

Santana smiled, moving her face closer to Brittany's, "_Cunt_," she hushed. Brittany's grin widened as her head dropped back against her chair, a flush coating her cheeks.

"Good?" asked Santana.

"There's something I've always loved about a pretty girl with a dirty mouth," she turned in her seat to face Santana, "and if you don't want to do it for your mother, then do it for me."

"But why would I do it for you?"

Brittany's stomach flipped again.

And again.

And a third time.

Santana had a low tremble in her voice and it reverberated against Brittany's body; made her jaw clench.

"Because…I'm in Mexico making you laugh."

"And?"

"Because…I'm in Mexico making you laugh…Wearing the dress that's too short on you. And you were right. It's all ass."

Santana's eyes dropped down to the toned thighs that spilled out of the black dress that kept riding up and Brittany kept diligently pulling back down.

"I'm serious eye candy, Santana."

Santana laughed as she struggled to pry her eyes away from skin and back up to Brittany's face. She exhaled quickly, before releasing her hold on Brittany's leg and pushing her chair back from the table.

* * *

><p>"Alright, so I'm a little rusty. No judging."<p>

Santana giggled into the microphone as she fingered over the keyboard Manny brought out for her to use. She nervously bit at her lip as she cracked her fingers, preparing herself. From the small crowd that still lingered in the restaurant, a wolf whistle sliced through the air.

Santana smiled and rolled her eyes, "Shut up, Brittany," she spoke into the microphone even though the room was small enough for everyone to hear her without it.

As Santana began to play, her eyes closed, from emotion or because she was trying to remember the notes Brittany couldn't be sure. What she knew was that when Santana sang, it broke her heart.

"_Help. I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself again today. And the worst part is there's no one else to blame."_

Brittany felt the pressure build inside of her, forcing air past her lips as she struggled to keep herself calm. Her hands gripped the hem of her dress. Her heart thundered against her chest and as it became clear who Santana was singing the song to; her legs began to tremble beneath her.

"_Be my friend. Hold me. Wrap me up. Unfold me. I am small and needy. Warm me up. And breathe me."_

When Santana paused, the entire room took a collective breath.

"_Ouch. I have lost myself again." _

Brittany couldn't pick what new thing she liked most about Santana. She didn't want to. She hoped she would never have to. Here, in front of her, was this flawed woman who had somehow managed to build herself up as absolutely perfect in Brittany's eyes. Perfect in the way that paradise should be. And in this moment, she had found paradise.

Except it had nothing to do with the endless liquor or the amazing food or the crystal clear beaches or the swank hotel rooms. Paradise was a woman stripped bare, asking Brittany to be her friend.

"_Yeah, I think that I may break. Lost myself and I feel unsafe...Be my friend." _

* * *

><p>They slipped out after Santana's performance. Rachel and Kurt had stood on table to give her a standing ovation and Manny had good-naturedly threatened to throw them out if they did it again. They bought a cheap bottle of wine from the bar and went looking for a sunrise to pass out to.<p>

They found a spot on the beach that seemed good enough so Brittany plopped down on the sand, pulling Santana down with her. She settled in between Brittany's legs her back resting against Brittany's front.

"Wine, please."

Brittany took another sip from the bottle and passed it to Santana. After taking a drink, she drove the bottom of the bottle into the sand leaving it free standing.

"You're a really good singer, Santana."

It was the first thing Brittany had said about her performance. It wasn't enough but it was the only words her mouth would form. Santana laughed dryly, "A debt of gratitude I owe to my mother I guess."

"No. No offense to Mrs. Lopez but all the agents and competitions in the world can't teach someone to sing the way you sing…It was perfect."

"You're drunk, Brittany."

"But I'm not."

Silence engulfed them, punctuated only by the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. LA and Hollywood and all the bullshit that came with it seemed so far away it was virtually nonexistent. Venturing back was a terrifying prospect.

"Remember when we were talking about Callie and Arizona earlier today? Murmured Santana, sleep tickling at her voice.

Brittany grinned into the top of Santana's hair. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I gave you a pass."

"Thank God for small mercies," replied Santana, "and I was talking about what you called Arizona? SLP?"

"SHP." Brittany corrected her.

"What is that?"

"Shiny. Happy. Person. People who are all whole and not broken and shiny and…happy. Cristina and I got drunk one night with our friend Meredith and we reasoned that there has to be at least one of them in a relationship for it to have any chance at succeeding."

Brittany dug her hands into the sand as she tried to conjure the details of that night back to memory. There had been a lot of tequila. "I don't remember exactly why. But I know that's what we decided on."

"And this is only in relationships or do friendships count to?"

Brittany shrugged, "I don't know, I guess friendships could be handled the same way. Though I don't know how fool proof that would be."

"So in our friendship…?"

"You are definitely not an SHP, Santana. But that's okay because honestly it's not a good thing."

Santana's laughed bellowed from somewhere low in her throat. "So, that would make you the SHP?"

Brittany thought about it for a moment and then nodded, "How insane is that? I write movies that people slit their wrists to and yet I'm the SHP in this friendship."

"I apologized for that!"

"You so did not apologize for that!"

They tumbled into a laugher that echoed against the ocean. Brittany let herself fall back against the sand clutching at her stomach. Santana turned and crawled on top of her, the startling clarity in her eyes quickly shutting Brittany up. She lowered herself down and placed a kiss to Brittany's cheek.

"I apologize. Officially."

Brittany felt her insides tugging again as her hand unconsciously reached up and touched her cheeks were Santana's lips had been moments before. She smiled.

"Being an SHP, in our circle a friends, is not a good thing. But if it means me balancing you out I'll wear it like a badge of honor."


	8. 40 Seconds

Because of the quick word of the beta I was able to upload it tonight! Let me know what you think as always. Thanks Dray!

* * *

><p>Brittany slipped her legs beneath her as she hunkered down in a chair, cell phone pressed firmly to her ear. Her lips were thinned into a frown and her forehead crinkled with annoyance. The conversation wasn't going well. It was like talking to the dumbest, most nonsensical small child while keeping up the pretense that what the kid was saying did have merit and pretending she didn't want to punch it in the face.<p>

_God_ how she wished she could punch him in the face.

"That doesn't make sense," she rage whispered into the phone. She bit at the inside of her cheek to check herself. They say you get more bees with honey after all. To be honest, she's never really understood that proverb. Why the fuck would she want to go bee catching at all? Bees sting. And you could be as sweet as you want to them and bring them all the honey in the world, but somewhere along the way they're going to break off and sting the shit out of you.

If non-industry folks were bees, then Hollywood was a fucking hornet's nest. Frantic, hyper hornets encircling the flavor of the week like a vulture would encircle highway road kill. One wrong move, one snub, one toe out of line and they descend on you full force, ready to sting no matter the consequences or if it takes them down as well.

Unfortunately for Brittany, she wasn't speaking with honey bee or hornet. She was speaking to a very special kind of bee, one that probably couldn't find his way back to the hive even if he followed a yellow brick road paved with honey. If a retarded bee existed, he would be _that_ bee.

"Brittany, are you listening?"

She snapped out of her musings and refocused on the conversation. He had said something.

But, what?

"Just trust me, she's ready." She pressed on, not wasting time by pretending to listen. He gulped from the other end, slimy and audible. She could practically smell the fear wafting through the phone receiver and it was making her nauseous. People were so stupid when it came to such simple things. She rolled her eyes as she began to stand. "Listen, she trusts me. I know her. You know what that means? I know what's best for her. So just stop being you for a second and be…Be _me_. I gotta go."

She ended the call with a practiced flick of her thumb and spun around. Her breath caught in her throat. Caught again. Callie stood a few feet away from her. Her wet hair was slicked back. She wore a red bathing suit and crisp long sleeve shirt, buttoned mid-way. It hung to her knees and her wet bathing suit made it stick to her body in some places but because the shirt was so large it fell off of her in others. Brittany's eyes flittered away when she realized she was staring. Maybe Alice was right? Maybe she definitely did have a type?

"Are we done with the Jacuzzi, already?" she smiled. Callie's arms crossed and her shoulders squared. It must be a defense mechanism passed down through genetics. Callie stepped closer. Brittany stood her ground, nervously drumming her fingers against her bare thigh. She could explain the call to Callie and make her swear not to say a word. Except Callie didn't look like she wanted to hear any kind of excuse. She looked angry, but more so Callie looked disappointed.

"It's really easy to think we had an easy life growing up," Callie side stepped Brittany as she spoke. She sat down in the chair Brittany had just exited. "And maybe we did?" She shrugged. "We had the money and the influential parents and the cars and the _stuff_. That part of growing up was easy."

Brittany sat in a chair across from her as she listened. Callie laughed, "Okay maybe I _did _have a really easy fucking childhood. My dad and I were rock solid up until the moment I fell in love with a woman. Did Arizona tell you about the time he came to the hospital with some Bible Thumper and tried to, like, exorcize the gay demon out of me?"

Brittany shook her head. She hadn't heard that one before.

Callie shrugged again, a smile still playing on her lips. "Doesn't matter. My Aunt and Uncle though and I love them, don't get me wrong. They just didn't know how to handle Santana when she became _too much_ to handle," Callie paused. "Does that make sense?"

Brittany wasn't sure. She shook her head yes anyway. She wanted Callie to keep talking. She wanted to learn all that she could about Santana. Sometimes she felt like a Hurricane Hunter, defying logic and boldly running toward the eye of the storm instead of taking the first exit out and away from it, like all the normal people would.

But normalcy has always been overrated.

"I like you Brittany," Callie shifted tactics taking the focus from Santana and shifting it toward something easier to talk about.

Brittany grinned. "Duh."

"I don't know what it is that you're doing here but I do know that Santana doesn't like anyone. Ever. She barely likes me and I'm her cousin."

"It's obligated affection," offered Brittany.

Callie's smile pulled wider, it spread to her eyes. "Yes! Exactly. She's obligated to like me. And Quinn. But that's only because she needs someone to beat the shit out of every now and then."

"What?" asked Brittany, her head cocked to an angle. Callie spoke over her question.

"What I'm getting at…Is that she likes you and I understand that. You're likeable."

"But, you're getting at something else here aren't you?" pushed Brittany. Her mind churned with possibilities. What had Callie thought she heard?

"Yeah," Callie's eyes hardened, "I am."

Her smile vanished. "This is the fourth call you've snuck away to take today." As Brittany opened her mouth to explain, Callie raised her hand. The gesture reminded her so much of Santana she quieted instantly, "and I don't want to know why. It's none of my business. My cousin though? Is my business."

Brittany crossed her legs uncomfortably. She felt as if she was being interrogated and scolded for some terribly heinous act she didn't remember committing.

"I think you have the wrong idea, Callie," she murmured it into the wind; it floated away across the ocean.

"I really, really hope so. My Aunt and Uncle conditioned Santana to be maladjusted so finding someone she actually clicks with is so unheard of, I actually still don't believe it. So, if this is just another bullshit Hollywood ploy to get her in that movie of yours, _stop._ Be a human being and back away."

Callie stood. Brittany kept hear head down and her eyes glued to her hands.

"I break bones for a living, Brittany. People pay me to _break things_. Now again I _really, really_ like you. But if you hurt my cousin, I will do damage. Oath or not, no one messes with my family." Callie exhaled loudly. Brittany could feel pinpricks of anger hit the top of her head.

A pregnant, quiet moment passed, "Understood?" Callie's voice was softer now.

Brittany glanced up with trepidation. She took a hard swallow. "Understood."

* * *

><p><em>Forget your troubles (Happy days) <em>

_Come on get happy (are here again)_

_You better chase all your cares away (The skies above are clear again)_

_Shout hallelujah (So lets sing a song)_

_Come on get happy (of cheer again)_

_Get ready for the judgment day (happy days are here again)_

That afternoon they went back to _Eduardo's_ for lunch. It was a transparent ruse to get to the stage by Rachel and Kurt who, once again, had foregone eating for singing. Before claiming the microphones as their own, they promised Manny that they worked on their issues and could now share the stage as equal performers and they had. Their voices melted together dreamily. She found herself, for the first time that afternoon, swaying to the music.

_The sun is shining _

_Come on get happy (shout it now)_

_The lord is waiting to take your hand (there's no one who can doubt it now)_

Callie's words had spent the day eating away at her. They had brought up the same question Brittany still didn't have an answer to. What did she want from Santana Lopez? If it wasn't the movie (and it wasn't) then was it friendship? Her affection for Santana had been insidious, but now that it had finally taken over Brittany could feel it everywhere. In her hands, in her feet, in her stomach, in her bones.

In her heart.

It weighed her down while still making Brittany feel light as a feather. She could admit her crush, easy. Santana was the kind of girl you crush on. But Brittany knew Santana was also the kind of girl who made a crush feel like it was _crushing _you from the inside out when she inevitably broke your heart. And if that happened where would that leave them?

Brittany would be bitter and Santana would have to deal with the knowledge that the only person she had let inside of her world in years, only wanted to be there to get in her pants. Like everyone else.

But did she want that? Sex? Brittany chewed on her bottom lip. It hadn't crossed her mind until the very moment.

_We're heading across the river_

_Soon your cares will all be gone_

_They'll be no more, from now on _

_From now on_

Brittany wanted Santana, but only in the way that she wanted to know all of Santana's secrets. She wanted to know all the parts that made Santana who she was. She wanted to make sure Santana was okay. Brittany wanted to make her happy.

She wanted to bake cookies for her and do mindless stuff like watch reality television together. Sex with Santana wasn't a part of what she wanted.

But Santana having sex with anyone else wasn't what she wanted either.

A nudge to her side pulled Brittany out of her thoughts. She turned her head. Santana stared back at her. "Are you okay?" Her voice was low so no one at their table would overhear.

Brittany shook her head—too quickly. "Yes."

Santana gave her a look that all but said she didn't believe her, but still turned back around to face the stage.

_Forget your troubles (happy days)_

_And just get happy (are here again)_

_You better chase all your blues away (the skies above are clear again)_

_Shout hallelujah (so lets sing a song)_

_And just get happy (of cheer again)_

What if she hurt Santana, without meaning to hurt Santana? What if she wanted Santana too much and in the wrong way? What was the right way to want someone without hurting them?

Maybe she wasn't responsible enough for this after all?

_Happy times (happy times)_

_Happy nights (happy nights)_

_Happy days_

_Are here again_

* * *

><p>Brittany sidled up to the bar, spinning around on one of the worn leather bar stools. She threw her hands out onto the cool wood of the bar to stop herself, grinning as Manny caught her eyes. He chuckled to himself as he finished drying the glass in his hand and walked down the length of the bar to her.<p>

"You kids are so strange," he said as he poured her a glass of beer from the tap. "Is it an American thing?"

He sat the cup in front of her. She shrugged as she took a drink. "It depends on what you mean by strange," she said it as she swiped at the liquid that had pooled along her bottom lip, "You don't think we like, smoke crack, or anything do you?"

"All the singing. All the commotion. And the language?" he shook his head again, his lips once again breaking into a gap-toothed smile, "You kids cuss like sailors."

He thought to himself for a second, "Maybe worse than sailors."

Brittany beamed unable to shake the swelling pride overtaking her body. "It may be an American thing. We grew up without boundaries."

Manny nodded. He poured himself a beer and walked around the bar to sit next to Brittany. "Cheers?" He held up his glass for her.

"Cheers." She said as she clinked her glass against his. She took a drink of beer and sat it back down. Her eyes closed as Rachael's singing once again filled the room.

_There's a fire starting in my heart reaching a fever pitch and its bring me out the dark_

The lunch crowd had all but dispersed for the day. The only people left in the restaurant besides the kids from Hollywood, Manny and the waiters were a couple of drunk men half-conscious in a booth and an effeminate looking local boy who hadn't stopped staring at Kurt with his predatory eyes since they had arrived.

"So what brings you to beautiful _Mehico_?"

Brittany shrugged, averting her eyes, "Hanging out." She brought her beer back up to her lips. Manny laughed, his cheeks filling with color.

"What?" She asked, the blue in her eyes shining curiously.

Manny wiped at his forehead. "You're lying." He took another drink of his beer and met her gaze, daring her to prove him wrong.

"How do you know I'm lying?"

"Because you looked exactly like my daughter Isabel looks when she tells a lie. No poker faces at all," he clapped her softly on the back, "but don't worry. Every woman perfects the art of lying sooner or later."

"Do I detect a hint of bitterness, Manny?" She asked.

"No. But, I've been alive a long time." He stated simply, "I know women." He shrugged, "So you want to tell me the truth?"

Brittany exhaled her eyes once again falling into the half empty glass of frothy golden brown beer. "People keep asking me that," she murmured it softly, hoping Manny wouldn't ask her to speak up.

He didn't. "And what do you tell them?" he asked instead.

"I don't know...And I don't," she shook her head trying to make sense of the past few days. Trying to reconfigure where she stood in Santana's world or if she even had any footing at all in it, "I don't know."

"You know I get a lot of people in here. From the States. They're usually running away from something," he scoffed, "as if the problems wouldn't be there when they went home."

"What do people run from?" She didn't look at Manny; instead she kept her eyes down, focused on the sweat sliding off the clear glass of her beer.

"You name it." He licked his lips as he counted off on his fingers. "Girlfriends. Boyfriends. Husbands. Wives. Friends. Bills. Responsibilities," he hesitated before adding, "Themselves."

Brittany angled her head slightly to peer over at Manny. She knew he was looking at her with the same eyes he would use to look at his own daughter. It was adorable and hilarious. She smiled slightly, "I'm not running from anything, Manny."

He wasn't convinced. "You sure?"

Brittany flattened her palms against the bar as she sat straight up. "Yes." She replied confidently. "I'm chasing after something."

A spark lit in Manny eyes, clearly not expecting her answer. "What are you chasing?"

She glanced over her shoulder. Santana still sat at the table talking animatedly with Callie and Arizona. Brittany spun around to face Manny. Her grin was mischievous. "A girl."

Manny let out another loud succession of chortles. He clapped her again, this time on her shoulder. "I've been there, my friend!" His eyes brimmed with nostalgia, "so many times."

"Any tips?"

"If she asks you if you want to meet her parents. Do it. Don't wimp out," his eyes skimmed over to the table everyone sat at and then back to Brittany, "It's the one with the angry eyes isn't it?

Brittany looked over and sure enough Santana glared back at them, her eyes never leaving Manny, "Her eyes aren't angry, they're beautiful."

He hooted with laughter again, "Does she know how whipped she has you already?"

"I'm not whipped; I'm just..._not blind_. They're beautiful." She knew how pathetic her words sounded and judging by the way Manny's eyes rolled in the back of his head, he knew too.

He stood and rounded the bar. "Whatever you say, kid."

She downed the rest of the beer and dropped a few dollars into Manny's tip jar, "for the words of wisdom."

He bowed mid-way in gratitude before busying himself with cleaning more glasses. Before Brittany reached her table, she turned back around. "Manny?"

"Yep?"

"Did you get the girl you chased?"

Manny smiled warmly. "Better yet," he held up his left hand and for the first time Brittany noticed the gold band encircling his finger, "I tricked her into marrying me."

His face grew somber as he sat the glass down, "You want a real tip, Brittany?"

She shook her head, "Please."

He paused before continuing, "There's gonna be a ton of people rooting against you. Miserable people like to keep people miserable. Makes them feel better about themselves."

His jaw clenched. Brittany wondered exactly what he had to fight through to make his wife his wife. He pressed on, "If angry eyes makes you happy, fight for her. And don't stop until you trick her into walking down the aisle for you." His face flushed with laughter once again, "Or whatever it is you ladies do."

Brittany smiled with gratitude before turning again and taking her seat next to Santana at their table.

"Was that old dude hitting on you?" Santana asked her eyes still burning holes into Manny who was now turned around reorganizing the liquor bottles.

"No," said Brittany as she rolled her eyes, "He's like old enough to be my dad."

"Exactly. You're prime rib to his kind."

"He wasn't hitting on me, Santana."

She frowned, unconvinced. "Sure."

* * *

><p>The sun had fallen completely from the sky by the time Brittany and Rachel made it back to their hotel room. Brittany lounged on the couch flipping through television stations. She could hear Rachel squawking into her cellphone outside on the patio.<p>

Everyone decided to disperse for the evening before coming together for dinner later that night. Callie and Arizona were off doing some ultra-romantic couple only stuff for their last night in Mexico. Kurt was out with the guy he met at the Harbor a few days ago and if Brittany was to believe Santana he was _probably half naked and chained to a bed somewhere_. Santana had to take a couple conference calls from some Suits back in LA to wrap up some open-ended deals. She told Brittany she would call her when she was done and her and her _Troll_ could come back over and help prep from Callie and Arizona's sendoff barbecue.

_"Brilliant." _

She heard Rachel before the small woman appeared in front of her. Brittany craned her neck to see the television behind her, "can't see."

"I have just confirmed two first class flights for us back to California tomorrow at noon!" She clasped her hands together, clearly pleased with herself, "and not on Delta!"

Brittany sat up quickly, panic in her eyes, "What?" She wasn't ready to go home yet. Santana wasn't ready to go home yet.

"I got us flights home on an airline that isn't Delta. First class!" She repeated the information again, still beaming. She was expecting some kind of congratulatory payoff. Rachel needed approval the way most people needed air.

"Rachel..." Brittany smoothed her hands down her legs before standing, "I'm not ready to go back yet."

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion. Resistance wasn't the response she had been expecting. "But, Miranda says you need to come back?" Brittany's outright refusal to do something her mentor had asked was so out of character Rachel wasn't sure how to respond, "You're in the middle of making a movie."

"Yeah, I know." Brittany bluffed, "And I'm in the middle of securing the star for the movie."

Rachel shook her head. "Santana's out. She's taken too much time to sign." She sat her cell phone on the table. "They're offering the part to Rooney Mara tomorrow. You would know that if you would return one of Bailey's phone calls or answer when she calls," Rachel baited.

Panic once again filled Brittany, only this time it felt different. It was laced with anger. She hadn't banked on the possibility that they would forge along without her. "They can't do that."

"But they are."

"This is my movie. It's more mine than it is theirs. I wrote the stupid thing and I'm helping produce it," her voice shook with anger. She felt as if something was being taken from her. It made her skin crawl.

Sensing her agitation, Rachel pushed her back down on to the couch. She sat across from her. "I know it's an uncomfortable feeling, but you can't blame them."

"I _am_ blaming them."

"But you can't." She held Brittany's hands in hers. "You've been MIA for days now. You won't speak to anyone back home. And the only thing I can think of to tell them is that you're still _in talks _with Santana."

Brittany scoffed, unbelievably. "That's _all _you could think of?"

"Well no!" Rachel replied offended. "You know my flare for the dramatic is incomparable. But, I didn't think that telling Miranda Bailey that her star writer had robbed a bank in Silverlake and was now hiding out in Mexico with her fellow accomplice, dim witted star Santana Lopez would do much to ease her worries."

Brittany thought for a moment, "Probably not."

"You need to go back home, Britt." Rachel squeezed her hand gently. "Santana Lopez is the kind of woman who loves having people beg her to do something for them."

Her voice was soft, kind, "You've made a career out of not conforming. Don't start now. Rooney Mara is an amazing actress. Better than Santana on her best day. Go with her. Go home. Make the movie. Show the world how good you are. _Again_."

Brittany was silent as she let Rachel's words wash over her. When she spoke she asked, "Did you ever see that movie she was in, I think it was called _Love In the Time of One Night Stands _or something like that.

Rachel frowned, "Unfortunately. I'm still trying to get the sour taste of it out of my mouth."

Brittany ignored her comment, "You know that scene in the bathroom? When Puck's character-"

"_Johnny Black_." Rachel quickly offered.

"Yeah, him. Johnny Black. When he dumps Santana's character –"

"_Caroline Ward_." Rachel interjected again.

"Yeah. When Johnny dumps Caroline. She leaves the pool party and she goes into the bathroom and she sits on the toilet and she just...cries. Do you remember that?"

"Yes."

Brittany turned to Rachel. "That's not an easy thing to do. At least not that way she did it. She just...broke. Does that make sense?"

Rachel huffed, "She was acting Brittany. Santana didn't break. Caroline did."

"Exactly!" Brittany tried to contain her excitement. "Crying on cue and making it believable. Without covering your face with your hands, is hard! But, she just sat there and it was like a floodgate. A really sad floodgate"

"What's your point?"

"What if she's better than the writing she's been given? What if she's better than people think she is? What if I can help her show the world just how good she can be?"

A small, condescending small tugged at the corner of Rachel's lips. She looked at Brittany the way a mother would look at a child who had just asked if she wished hard enough would dinosaurs come back to life.

A harsh rap sounded at the door. Rachel released Brittany's hand and stood walking over to the door. Before she opened it, she turned back to Brittany and said, "We need to go home Brittany. You need to apologize to Miranda for not returning her calls and you need to sign off on Rooney Mara before she commits to something else and you lose her."

Without waiting for Brittany's response Rachel pulled the door open. A tanned bellboy wearing a blue uniform and smile stood outside, his fingers wrapped around the bars of a luggage cart full of shopping bags. "Ms. Brittany Pierce?" He asked, a slight accent coating his words.

Brittany's eyes shot open as she took in what had to be twenty bags piled along the cart. "That's me."

"Wonderful." He bypassed Rachel and pushed the cart inside of the room and over to where Brittany now stood.

Brittany eyed his strangely, "What's this?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am." He pulled out the clipboard he had tucked underneath his arm. "I just need your signature." He held it out to Brittany along with a pen.

"She's not signing anything until we know what it is!"

He frowned as he turned the clip board back around. "It doesn't say what's in the bag, but it says it's compliments of..." His eyes widened as he read the name, "Santana Lopez? No way."

Brittany grinned, wasting no time diving into the closet bag. She pulled out a small card, flipping it open.

_I had some free time after my conference calls. Thought I would get you some clothes that didn't make the world want to beat you into a bloody pulp. See you at dinner. _

Santana's signature was at the bottom in perfect, loopy cursive. Brittany could feel her face flush. She blindly reached into the bag and pulled out a red cocktail dress. Simple and sexy. She reached in again and pulled out a pair of jean short shorts. A third dig into the bag retrieved a pair of skimpy purple lace panties. She held them up to Rachel and the Bellboy. "Santana bought me clothes!"

"She bought you purple dental floss," Rachel turned to the Bellboy, "I'll sign." She took the clipboard from his hands and scrawled her name across the page. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of laminated white paper that held stickers in the shape of gold stars. Half of them were already missing. She placed one at the end of her name and beamed giving him the clip board back. "You'll want to make a copy of that," she added, "It'll be worth quite a bit of money one day."

He smiled politely at her before backing out of the room and closing the door behind herself. Rachel looked to Brittany. She was still digging into the bags pulling out the clothes before throwing them to the ground and pulling out more. Her face was glowing, her smile never wavering.

"I hope that face doesn't mean what I think it means," detecting the controlled panic in Rachel's voice Brittany looked up. Rachel's brown eyes were rounded in concern, maybe even fear.

"What do you mean?"

Rachel frowned, "You're not stupid Brittany." She turned on her heel and marched back into the shared bedroom. "Flight's at noon!" She called behind her.

* * *

><p>Brittany never put much thought into her clothing choices and when she did she was usually preoccupied with thinking about taking them off (or getting them off of someone else). When she was a kid, she had a style that could only be described as eclectic. Polka-dotted shorts with lime green halter tops. Big, frilly hats and thigh high socks. Silver metallic rain boots, on clear summer days. Those were staples of her childhood wardrobe. As she aged and began slipping into the person she is today, black began to take over her closet. It wasn't a conscious effort; it seemed to happen overnight. She remembered waking up one day, going into her closet and realizing that everything looked the same.<p>

And she was okay with it.

But now, standing in her bathroom, in front of a full length mirror wearing a pair of denim shorts, black ankle boots and t-shirt so thin and white it was transparent enough for the yellow bra to peak out from underneath, she'd never felt sexier. Or more like herself.

Santana had taken moments to imagine what she would look like in these clothes and knowing that made Brittany's insides pull and tighten. There was something so incredibly intimate about it and she wasn't sure why.

* * *

><p>Rounding the corner of Santana's villa, Brittany struggled to contain the frenzy building inside of her. She snuck out of her hotel room while Rachel was in the shower, leaving a note saying she'd gone to Santana's and that she would see her when they began cooking. She wanted alone time. It had been<em>...nice <em>having everyone around but in actuality, Brittany had wanted Santana to herself. She saw Arizona, Callie and Rachel practically every day at home. She didn't feel the need to come to Mexico and see them too.

Brittany jogged down the stone path leading to Santana's door. Before raping on the door, she smoothed her shirt out and hoped she looked as good as Santana had imagined. It didn't take long for Santana to answer. She was in the same white robe she wore the first night, except this time her eyes weren't filled with fear and her lips turned up into a smile. She stepped back to let Brittany in, checking her out as she passed. "So you look smokin' hot."

Brittany shrugged, grinning bashfully, "I know, right?"

Santana shut the door and lead Brittany down the hallway. "I did good?" She asked as she busied making them a drink while Brittany snuggled into the couch.

"You did amazing. Except. You know you didn't have to."

"Shut up, Brittany." She left the bottle of wine uncorked and walked a glass over to where Brittany sat. "I'm perfectly aware of what I do and don't have to do."

Brittany grinned into her glass as she took a healthy swallow of the plum liquid. "My liver is going to fucking riot against me after this week is over," she took another swig, "It's just gonna like, mutiny and walk out of me."

"I think I might be a functioning alcoholic."

Brittany looked over. Santana stared, zoned out and glassy eyed at the wall. She nudged her shoulder. "Seriously?"

Her plump lips broke against her white teeth. Such a perfect smile. "No."

Brittany let her head rest against the cushion of the couch. "You're kinda funny," she murmured quietly.

"Morose is what you mean."

She turned her head to look at Santana. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, her bangs hanging down, partially obscuring her face. Her eyes were glittering as if she knew a secret everyone else was dying to know and she refused to tell it. Brittany so very badly wanted to be in on that secret.

"Why did you call Callie here?" The question came out before Brittany had a chance to register what she was saying. She knew her face mirrored the same surprise Santana's held.

"I thought you gave me a pass?" She shifted in her seat. Brittany couldn't read her expression.

"I guess I didn't."

Santana let out a weighted sigh. Her fingers fiddled with the lip of her glass before she spoke. "You want the long version or the short one?"

"Whichever one's the truth."

"In short..." she replied, "You scare me." Her voice was an echo of its former self. The confidence nonexistent, replaced with a jarring frailty. Brittany had always known the truth had a way of breaking down the strongest of people.

"Why do I scare you?" asked Brittany, her voice low. She kept her eyes trained on Santana's profile, unable to look away even if she wanted to.

"It's not you that scares me. It's me. It's who I am when you're around." Santana finally turned her head to look at Brittany. Her voice shook with the most humbling uncertainty. "You keep _pulling_ things out of me. Things I've worked really fucking hard to keep in...It makes me angry because I can't stop it."

"So you called Callie?"

"I needed someone to remind me of who I am. Except...Here we are. Callie's _here..._And you're still pulling stuff out of me," Santana smiled pitifully, "I can't win."

Brittany searched Santana's face, "I never meant to make you feel like that," she continued on, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Learning," she nudged Santana's foot with her boot, "About you."

Another thing about the truth, Brittany had always known? When people finally reckon with it, it encapsulates them in such a wonderfully, terrifying way that their entire body can't help but respond. Eyes flutter. Fingers twitch. Calves tighten. Eyes dilate and darken.

And that's exactly the way Santana looked when she quietly muttered a "No" in response.

Brittany smiled, relieved. "I was hoping you'd say that."

She suddenly had the urge to ask Santana a million questions, from the big to the small. She wanted to know what street she grew up in. Who she lost her virginity to? What kind of dog was her favorite? Did she speak with her parents? So many questions piled up at the tip of her tongue, her brain felt as if it was going to short circuit.

"You know what?" She finally asked.

Santana leaned back, suddenly weary. She rubbed at her eyes. "What?"

"That lame attempt to dig into my life was pretty much a bust right?" She grinned as a flush began to creep across Santana's face. "I thought so. It doesn't seem fair does it? I know this gigantic thing about you and you know that I dated a girl who had a bitch mom."

"Not fair at all," Santana agreed.

"So I'm going to tell you things. Important things. Stuff that makes me, me." Brittany smiled proudly, inwardly patting herself on the back for her clever idea.

"Like what?" Santana asked, intrigued. What kind of secrets could Brittany have? The girl was practically an open book.

Brittany shrugged in response, "Don't know. But I'm gonna tell you things. Don't worry."

"_Brittany_!"

Her eyes closed at the sound of her name. Santana let out a mangled groan. "I swear to God it's like _It_ has sonar!"

"I left her a note," Brittany replied with a laugh, "Don't call her It."

"It's the honker. She's like the most annoying Bloodhound in the existence of blood hounds," she shifted her eyes toward the entrance of the hallway, "You could run all night, throwing pepper behind your back and she would still sniff you out."

Brittany watched as Santana loaded her arsenal for Rachel's inevitable arrival, "How do you know Rachel?"

"What?" Santana kept her eyes trained forward.

"You know Rachel, right?" When Santana didn't respond, Brittany leaned over, grabbed Santana's face with her hand and turned it so that Santana was facing her. Brittany's thumb and pointer finger wrapped around her chin gently, holding her in place. "How?"

Santana face relaxed into a grin. "Okay, first of all? _Wanky_." She wrapped her hand around Brittany's fingers and pulled them down. As their skin smoothed against one another, Brittany felt a rush of adrenaline surge through her body. If Santana noticed, she didn't show it. "She was my assistant, for like, a second." She kept Brittany's hand wrapped in hers as she spoke.

"What happened?" Brittany asked. She could only imagine the blood bath that ensued from their partnership, however brief it may have been.

"I dropped her creepy ass." Santana shrugged.

Rachel rounded the hallway, clearly pissed. Her eyes dropped down to the sofa cushion and to the tanned hand covering Brittany's. Noticing, Santana quickly snatched it away as she stood, "I thought your kind only came out after midnight?"

She crossed the room, sliding open the wall to reveal the dark blue sky. "Aren't you breaking like, the International Troll Rules of Conduct?"

Ignoring Santana, Rachel's eyes pierced into Brittany who refused to reciprocate the contact.

"Brittany..." ventured Rachel.

Jumping up quickly and slapping a smile onto her face, Brittany followed after Santana. "We should start the grill!"

Her suspicion growing, Rachel trailed behind, her eyes roaming across the room looking for clues as to what she just walked in on.

* * *

><p>Brittany's family had barbecues all of the time when she was younger. Her father in his own words, was a<em> professional griller<em>. Anything that could survive the charcoal fire was tossed onto the grate (and sometimes even food that couldn't). But, despite her extensive history with grilling, Brittany had never actually grilled something herself.

And now as she hovered above the gas grill, flame whipping through the silver slots of the meat racks, it looked...confusing. Not to mention absolutely daunting. Whose idea was this?

"_Coming through_!"

She got her answer as Arizona barreled toward her. She carried a tray of raw, bloody steak and wore a chef's hat. "I'm so ready!" She smiled as she sat the tray down. Brittany watched her move around the grill for a moment, adjusting gadgets and checking gauges, all the while keeping the same face numbing smile on her face. Brittany sighed, life as a SHP must be exhausting.

Hearing her labored breath, Arizona looked over. "You okay, Britt?"

"Fine," she forced a smile. "You bummed about leaving?"

"Sorta. I like relaxing. Relaxing is fun. But, I have a tiny person who's been waiting on a liver transplant for the past four months and I just want to get back there."

Brittany watched as Arizona placed the steak onto the grill, the fire crackling and the meat sizzling. She closed the lid and turned to face Brittany, "If only to stand around and look impatient."

Arizona's eyes slipped from Brittany and over to where Callie and Santana sat on lounge chairs, laughing. Rachel sat across from them sipping on a virgin daiquiri, every once in a while shooting Santana a glare.

"She's so beautiful." Arizona's voice was filled with whimsy, her eyes glassy as she stared at Callie. "They've got good genes, right?"

"Yeah."

"So." Arizona suddenly turned to Brittany. "Did Callie scare you a lot today?"

Brittany smiled, "She told you about that?"

"Of course she did." Arizona raised the lid of the grill took a peek inside and shut it back. "We tell each other everything. In our pretty pink bubble there are no secrets."

"She didn't scare me," Brittany gestured toward the two cousins, "It's cool, you know? There should be someone looking out for her who doesn't want to like _get_ anything from her."

"And what do you expect to get from her?" Arizona eyes softened as she asked. Brittany squirmed, her toes tapping at the patio floor.

"I'm gonna go get us another drink, okay?"

Arizona's lips slowly parted into a smile, "Okay."

* * *

><p><em>I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, that much is true<em>

Sometime during the night someone swapped out Rachel's virgin daiquiri for a full powered one. If the way Santana's brown eyes shined were any indication, Brittany was pretty sure she knew who. After her second daiquiri Rachel decided to pull out her portable karaoke machine and treat the group to rousing performance of hits from the 80s.

Kurt showed up with the boy from the harbor, who's name everyone finally came to know was Juan. The power struggle for the microphone continued, while everyone else sat back and watched and even though Rachel and Kurt yelled, screamed and try to out showtune one another it was _okay_. It was okay because Santana sat next to Brittany the entire time. And disregarding the fact that Brittany sometimes caught Callie glaring at her with so much venom it made her head ache, the night was perfect.

* * *

><p>They decided to give Callie and Arizona Santana's villa for the night. Rachel practically seized when she realized that Santana was not only following them back to Brittany's room but she was also going to sleep in it as well. Kurt took Juan up on his offer to sleep on his house boat and after they had surreptitiously snuck Rachel's karaoke machine into the back of Juan's car, they drove off into the night. Before they left, Santana had offered to give Kurt the last of her lube supply; he adamantly insisted that sex was not on the table.<p>

* * *

><p>"You take the bed." Brittany insisted to Rachel who had her arms crossed looking past Brittany and at Santana.<p>

Santana kneeled on the carpet, digging through the luggage bag full of clothes Rachel had overnighted to Brittany, her face scrunched up in disgust.

"Is there a lock on that door?" Rachel whispered. She focused onto Brittany. "I fear for my safety. I'm too talented to die."

Brittany rolled her eyes as she began steering Rachel toward the room. "You're not going to die. Santana's harmless."

"See!" Rachel whipped around, pointing an accusing finger at Brittany. "There's something you're not telling me! She's brainwashed you."

"Yes, yes she has." Brittany humored her. "There was shock therapy and everything." She pushed Rachel into the room. "Get a good night's sleep and alert the authorities in the morning."

"_Fuchsia pastel_!"

Brittany and Rachel turned. Santana stood holding a fuchsia pastel skirt in her hand. "The maker of this atrocity should be lobotomized. _Yuck_!"

"That's a one of a kind, Santana!" Rachel fumed, "It has a matching shirt to go with it!"

Santana tossed the skirt back down. "You better hope that door _does _have a lock on it," she said, "Because no matter what Britts tells you I'm totally going to try and smother you in your sleep."

"It was one mistake, Santana. _One_!" Rachel's hands dropped to her sides. "No one in their right mind would have reacted the way that you did." Rachel stalled. "You're just a..._coward_!"

Santana stepped toward Rachel, anger gleaming in her eyes and wafting off of every inch of her body. Her hands clenched together, her blunt fingernails digging into soft skin. This was the Santana Lopez Brittany had thought she left back in Los Angeles. In a rush, Brittany turned quickly and pushed Rachel further into the room.

"Our flight is at noon, Brittany." Rachel said. She took a last glance at Santana and slammed the door. They heard the lock click in place. Brittany looked to Santana.

"What was that about?

"Nothing. That midget needs her mouth wired shut." She answered, shaking her head. Her shoulders were squared in anger. She cracked her knuckles, her eyes steadily glancing at the closed bedroom door.

"Not nothing, Santana."

"Yes nothing," Santana spat, "Fucking drop it."

She swung around to face Brittany. "So are you leaving tomorrow or what?"

"Stop talking to me like that," Brittany kept her voice calm. She sat on the couch. Santana looked like a stray cat that had been cornered in an alley. Frightened. Angry. Lonely.

"Like _what_?"

"Like you talk to other people."

Santana's lips parted, but she said nothing. Her shoulders loosened as the anxiety slipped out of her body. Brittany fought the urge to wrap her arms around Santana, instead she held out her hand for Santana to grab.

Santana looked at her hand skeptically. It took her a moment, but eventually Santana swallowed a smile and grab Brittany's fingers and let her pull her down onto the couch. She burrowed into Brittany side as Brittany wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

"We're going to have to talk about it eventually." She spoke into Santana's hair. Feeling Santana tense, Brittany rubbed circles into her shoulders.

"Talk about what?" Santana asked.

"Going home."

Santana fisted the bottom of Brittany shirt. "But not yet right?"

"No not yet." She wrapped her arms tighter around Santana, pulling her in as close as possible. She kicked off her boots and let Santana tangle their legs together.

"You looked super-hot in your clothes."

"You mentioned that."

* * *

><p>Brittany fell asleep before Santana.<p>

She was having one of her recurring dreams. In the dream, she woke up in her bed, took a shot of tequila with Cristina in the bathroom. Then suddenly she was dressed, but in the gown she wore the night she won her Oscar. From there the location skipped from her bathroom to Bailey's office. Except Bailey wasn't really Bailey she was Angelina Jolie (Billy Bob Thornton Jolie, not Brad Pitt Jolie). The dream almost always ended with Angelina offering Brittany a vile of her blood to wear around her neck.

Except tonight, the dream was different.

She could feel something on her face. And in her dream, she could see herself swatting at it. The sensation would stop, only to start again on another spot.

"_My mother would kill me if she knew I was wearing blood around my neck_."

Angie shrugged, tossed her head back in a laugh. "_I know your mother. She's cool, man_."

Brittany brushed at her cheek again. "_You know my mom_?"

"_We grew up together_."

Angelina stalked across the office wearing a wolfish grin and holding out the vile of blood. Brittany could feel herself slipping back into consciousness the closer Angelina came, her dream becoming muddled and distorted.

_"It's cool, man..."_

Angelina's voice echoed somewhere faraway. Right as the vile of blood was to reach Brittany's outstretched hand she awoke.

But she kept her eyes closed because it was still happening.

Brittany felt the weight on her body, moving slightly. It took her a moment to remember that she had fallen asleep on the couch, holding Santana.

It happened again and Brittany's heart lurched.

Lips.

Soft lips were grazing her cheek, placing sporadic kisses along her jawline. She kept perfectly still underneath Santana not wanting her to stop and not wanting to catch her if she didn't want to be caught. From the delicate way her lips moved so effortlessly across Brittany's burning skin, she knew Santana had waited for her to fall asleep for a reason.

Her lips connected with Brittany's cheek again and stayed. She opened her mouth against Brittany skin, her teeth dragging softly against flesh. Brittany fought back a moan, her toes kneaded into the carpet. Her insides felt so tight she was sure they were going to snap. She could feel moisture pool between her legs, sticky and overwhelming.

Santana placed another kiss, this one to the tip of her nose before she pulled back. Brittany could feel her hovering in front of her face. She wanted to open her eyes and see the way her eyes looked after kissing. Were they dilated? Were her cheeks flushed?

Despite her needs, she kept her lids shut tight. Santana inhaled deeply and repositioned herself nestled back into Brittany's side, her head tucked into the hollow of Brittany's neck.

It only took forty seconds in a dark room for Santana to completely obliterate every boundary Brittany had thought they had put up for each other.

* * *

><p>The swagger that exuded from his body was apparent to even the most unperceptive of people. He wore a suit, dark black and tailored. The slate gray shirt was left undone at the top and swatch of muscular, tanned flesh peaked out from underneath.<p>

Despite the late hour he wore sunglasses as he confidently strode into the building and to the reception desk where the female clerk noticeably shivered. He grinned cockily having grown accustomed to the reaction years ago.

He was immaculate, save for the tiny abrasion on his bottom lip. He placed his sunglasses on the counter.

"_Welcome to the Esperanza Resort, Mr. Puckerman_."


End file.
